


take to the skies, chasing stardust

by softEldritch (assbutts)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Treasure Planet Fusion, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sheith Big Bang, slightly implied Lance/Hunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 00:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 58,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11840304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assbutts/pseuds/softEldritch
Summary: Keith’s a simple guy, with a simple life, but he’s never quite fit right in his skin. He craves adrenaline, adventure, his eyes set to the stars.A Galra artifact being thrust into his hands with nothing but the warning “don’t trust the Galra cyborg” stirs everything up. Now Keith’s off on a trip across the galaxy in search of Zarkon’s Fortune, the opportunity of a lifetime to finally become something more.Nothing is ever that simple.[a Treasure Planet AU for the 2017 Sheith Big Bang]





	1. wanna touch things i don't feel

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, everyone! My piece for the Sheith Big Bang! I've been working on this for months and I'm soooo excited to share it with all of you.
> 
> Thank you so much to my partner, [calico-cats](http://calico-cats.tumblr.com/) for the absolutely _gorgeous_ art, the tumblr post for which can be found [here](http://calico-cats.tumblr.com/post/164374494804/here-is-my-art-piece-for-the-sheithbigbang-this). It was a pleasure being paired with you for this project, so thank you for being as excited about Treasure Planet as I am!!
> 
> The title of this fic in inspired by the song [The Calling - TheFatRat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KR-eV7fHNbM&ab_channel=TheFatRat) which is sort of the unofficial theme song for this piece. 
> 
> Chapter title from [I'm Still Here - John Rzeznik](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9Hrq9dzNSs&ab_channel=KaelinaLovesLomaris).

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/97690266@N06/36672866375/in/dateposted-public/)

 

“We are all made from the dust of stars.”

It’s what Keith’s father used to say. Whenever Keith asked about his mom—who she was, when she’d be coming back—his dad would point to the sky and say, “she’s out there somewhere, sailing among the stars.” Keith always worried; what if she was lonely? Didn’t she want to be with her family? But his dad would just smile, and tell him, “we’re with her right now. All of us are made of the same stardust; she’ll never truly be alone as long as she’s out there. We’ll see her when the universe is ready to bring her back to us.”

Then one day Dad went out to work at the spaceport, and the universe never brought him back.

Keith’s never been the poetic type. Stardust is just stardust, and loneliness is something chronic and painful. He can’t fix it just by looking up at the sky and imagining the vague shape of his mother in the stars and gas clouds of the Milky Way. And when they shipped him down to Earth, left him in Matron Ingrid’s care, he just felt that much further away.

But more than anything, Keith’s always been a survivor. So he made it work; he avoided the other kids and found hobbies that let him turn off his brain and work on pure instinct. He might not be a genius but he’s a quick thinker and good with his hands—mechanic’s hands, people have said, working hands. Sometimes Keith wonders if his dad would be proud of who he’s become. If his mom would recognize him.

Thoughts like that bog him down. Keith thinks too hard and too deep, tends to get caught up in his own head if he lets his brain run too long.

Which is why he’s here. Wind whips through long strands of his black hair, turning the field of long grass into a shimmering ocean, extending further that Keith can see. Nobody comes out here anymore; it’s a bad memory overgrown with nature like an ugly scar. Keith likes the silence.

He takes a deep breath, lungs filling with clean air. Then he turns to his bike, hovering over the sea of silvery grass a few feet away, solar energy glowing soft and warm beneath it. Despite her shoddy appearance, Keith loves the damn thing. It’s a patchwork of red metal and various old parts that have no place being on the same bike. She’s ugly as hell and barely functional—the engine still runs too hot, and the hover-propulsion system is just as likely to work as it is to completely break down. But the important thing is that she’s Keith’s. Orphans don’t get many possessions.

Keith pats her flank like she’s an animal, overheated metal almost painful even through his leather gloves. Then he climbs astride the bike, legs settled comfortably on either side of the narrow machine, and revs the engine. It rumbles to life beneath him, loud like the roar of a lion.

“Alright, girl,” he says, his words immediately carried away by the wind. “Let’s do this.”

A sharp grin stretches across Keith’s face as him and his bike shoot forward over the grass. Adrenaline shoots through his veins, lighting up his nerves with exhilaration. Wind rushes through his hair and hot metal stings against his inner thighs and this—this is who he is.

The edge of a cliff rapidly approaches, a sheer drop into a mined-out trench below. Keith leans forward on his bike and speeds up. His heart is thudding in his ears, bright anticipation tinged with the bitter edge of fear flooding his body. He grins as the drop approaches—the bottom of the trench is so far down it’s obscured by a layer of mist, and from this angle it looks endless.

Keith shoots out over the edge of the cliff, suspended in the air above a bottomless pit. Then he tightens his fingers around the handlebars and cuts the engines.

For a moment he’s weightless, long hair floating around his head like he’s in zero-G. Then gravity kicks in and he’s falling, his hunk of scrap metal tumbling down into the abyss. Keith leans into it, tilts forward until it’s a nosedive, the front of his bike cutting clean through the air.

“C’mon,” he snarls through a grin, his heart in his throat and a fierce energy coursing through his body like a wildfire. “C’mon, almost—almost—“

Keith shoves himself to one side, pulling the entire bike with him—and then he’s in a spin, spiraling faster and faster, gravity and G-force pulling his body away from his bike. He keeps his knees tight, body pressed along the length of his bike, spinning faster and faster until all he can see is a sharp blur of the cliff wall and the mist.

 _‘Alright,’_ Keith thinks to himself, tightening his hands so hard around the handlebars his arms are trembling. _‘Just like always.’_ His heart is hammering so hard it’s painful but he takes a deep breath, letting his eyes drift shut.

Then he pulls up his knees and kicks away from the body of the bike.

Centrifugal force takes over immediately and Keith’s entire body goes flying; only his grip tight around the handlebars keeps him attached to the bike. Him and the bike spin and somersault over one another and he opens his eyes to see nothing but flashes—red metal and brown dirt and white mist and bright blue sky. A scream tears itself from his throat, body overflowing with pure energy.

Cold, wet air hits his skin, dampness immediately soaking through his hair and his jacket. Shit. Keith folds his arms in, pulls his chest up against the handlebars of his bike. Now he just needs to get his legs—his arms shake from the effort of holding himself and he grits his teeth, hips fighting against centrifugal force to approach the bike.

He can see the ground now. Only in flashes—the bike’s still spinning out of control—but if it’s close enough that he can see it he’s only got a few more seconds. Keith swings his legs forward with all his strength and a wordless cry. His foot hooks under the seat and he tugs himself in, ass landing on the seat just as the ground rears up in front of him—

A tug of his wrist and the engine roars back to life, solar energy pulsing around Keith’s body. He levels with the ground so abruptly it knocks the breath out of his lungs but he gulps down cold air with a grin on his face. “ _Yeah!_ ” The scream tears out of his mouth, echoing in the narrow canyon around him, and Keith wouldn’t be surprised if his heart burst from the pressure.

There’s grass down here, too, growing over what used to be blighted earth carved out by the Galra Empire in the mine they had down here. But the Galra Empire has been dead for centuries, and nature is already growing over the scar they left here. Trees sprout from the ground and vines cling to the canyon walls, an endless stretch of vivid green.

Keith winds in and out of trees, ducks beneath low-hanging branches so close the leaves flutter through his hair. Through the green he sees the first hints of the mine. It’s a monstrosity of black metal, sleek shapes jutting out of the ground and carving into the walls of the canyon. A hollow corpse of what it must have once been.

There’s a barrier field around it—nobody is supposed to touch anything, Galra tech is off-limits because nobody has figured out how the hell to destroy it yet—but rules have never been Keith’s thing. He only speeds up as he approaches it, a massive amalgamation of metal surrounded by a shimmering blue field. Go in fast enough, angled the right way, and a barrier field’ll never respond to the unauthorized entry fast enough to keep someone out.

He leans forward, flattens his body against the bike to speed himself up even more. The shimmer of blue approaches, filling Keith’s entire field of vision, and just before impact he braces himself, throat tightening—

The barrier passes harmlessly over his skin, a spark of static electricity following its path along his body. It’s not until Keith’s inside the barrier field that it starts flashing red around him.

Law enforcement doesn’t scare Keith. Response times are slow out here in the middle of nowhere, and he’s faster than any of them anyway. Even when they do eventually show up—and they’ll show up, they never ignore a call about Galra tech—Keith knows he can outrun them. Wouldn’t be the first time, and it won’t be the last. He’s been to this factory more times than he can count.

Keith’s never known why this place calls to him so much. Sometimes he just gets _feelings_ , and they always lead him back here. Maybe it’s back from when he was a little kid obsessed with stories of Galra pirates. Doesn’t really matter much. It’s a playground for his bike, a jungle of sleek black metal, and that’s enough for Keith.

He swerves around a corner and ducks into a narrow corridor. Monolithic walls close in around him, so tall they’re extending up into the mist. A single inch separates his legs from the wall on either side and Keith grins, baring his teeth to the danger of shifting just slightly to the side.

Adrenaline is addictive. Keith leans forward, pushing the bike almost faster than it can handle, scorching metal burning against the insides of his thighs. Faster is dangerous—any second his control could spiral, or the bike could break down, and Keith and his bike would end up a mangled mess of red—but it’s more than worth it for the rush of exhilaration in his blood.

He shoots out of the narrow corridor at top speed and immediately heads straight into a forest of machinery and metal. The black Galra metal is cold even after so long in disuse, emanating a chill that Keith can feel despite the overheating metal beneath him. He swerves in and around jutting pieces of metal, braking and speeding up, a complicated manoeuvre that calms the twitching in his hands.

“What do you think, girl?” The bike skids through the air as Keith makes a sharp turn into open space. “You ready for it?”

Almost like she’s responding, the engine roars to life as Keith picks up speed again. He’s got his target. A lattice of metal between two structures. Dimming sunlight streams through the diamond-shaped junctions between the metal bars; spaces big enough for a bike, or a person. Not big enough for both together.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Keith growls, his voice carried away by the wind. Faster, he needs to be going faster, needs enough momentum to carry him through. His bike is overheating, he’s going to have burns on his legs—but Keith can barely feel it. “C’mon!”

The lattice is there and there’s not enough space for Keith and his bike to pass through, his head’s gonna come clean off.

But at the last second he jumps, diving through the opening above with his arms pressed close against his flattened body. For a second there’s nothing but cold black metal surrounding him and the roar of his bike—then Keith emerges into open air, his bike shooting from the opening just below him.

He reaches out wildly, manages to grab the handlebars and pull himself right back into the seat. Keith hollers into the open air as he straightens his course, eyes closed, head tipped back. Sunlight warms his face, hard wind wrestles with his long hair. Adrenaline flickers along his body like electricity. For once, his head is clear. That’s the best part—turning off his brain, living in the moment.

With a deep breath, Keith slows his bike and lets his eyes flicker open. “Good one, girl,” he says with a wide smile, patting the scorching metal of his bike. “Let’s head back.” Matron Ingrid will be expecting him. He’s already hours late, but he’ll get whatever jobs she has for him done.

He heads for the opposite end of the Galra factory, to the other side of the flashing red barrier—and just beyond that barrier are a couple of Enforcer Drones, waiting for him with their arms crossed. Shit.

Keith’s not getting arrested. He slides to a stop several yards short of the barrier, far enough that he’ll be able to run if they come for him. Close enough he can talk to them.

One of the drones looks Keith over—or, he thinks so. Hard to tell when their faces are just sleek, featureless black mirrors. “Operation of solar vehicles in this sector and trespassing in restricted areas such as this are violations—“

“Of my probation, I know.” Keith curls his lip, narrowing his eyes at the drones. “I was just going for a ride and practicing my flying.”

The other drone cocks its head to the side. “You were clocked at over twice the speed limit.”

 _“Over three times, actually,”_ Keith wants to say, but he presses his lips tight together and mirrors the cross-armed stance of the drones. “Nobody was around. A joyride in a deserted Galra factory doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“You are in direct violation of the law, Kogane.”

Keith shrugs. “Stupid law, then.” He inches forward in his seat, pressing his knees in a little tighter. Getting ready to run when the bots pursue.

“Come in quietly,” the second drone says. “The charges of operating this solar vehicle despite your probation may be dropped.”

Keith doesn’t deal in maybes. “What if I don’t?”

“We will bring you in for processing and you can sit in holding until someone decides what to do with you.”

More empty threats. Matron Ingrid will eventually bail him out, or they’ll get tired of him down at the station and release him with more community service. Nobody actually gives a shit about trespassing calls, they just seem intent on making Keith’s life a living hell.

So Keith grins. “Catch me first.” Then his bike roars to life and he shoots off towards the canyon wall. It’s littered with caves, some of them only feet deep, others winding through the ground like a maze. A maze Keith has memorized, has ever since he first started exploring this place. No way will the Enforcer Drones be able to catch him in there.

Keith chooses a cave system he knows stretches on for miles. The second he’s inside he immediately feels the chill, even through his jacket. Walls of stone are lined with black Galra metal still glowing faintly. It casts a soft, eerie violet light over the cave; still dim, but bright enough for Keith to navigate. Definitely too dark for someone who doesn’t know better to see half of the twists and turns he’s taking.

Sirens echo in the cave behind him. They’re distant, muffled by stone and metal. Keith’s already losing the drones. He grins into the darkness, taking a sharp left down a narrow tunnel. Narrow enough that the drones and their hovercrafts’ll never be able to fit through.

The sound of sirens follows Keith through the tunnels even as he goes further and further. He’s not worried. The drones are nowhere near, they’re pathetically distant, and nobody knows these mines like Keith. He could turn around right now and head right back into the factory, and the drones would probably just be getting out of the tunnels by the time Keith got home.

“What the hell.” Keith skids to a halt, the side of his bike nearly slamming against the cave wall, foot dragging against the rough ground as he spins around it. “Worth a shot.”

He shoots back in the direction he came from. Back towards the entrance, wailing sirens echoing louder in his ears with each passing second. Still muffled, though, which means the Enforcement Drones still won’t be able to catch him. The entrance is fast approaching, just a few more seconds and Keith will be able to see light from outside—

There’s a big, blocky shape in the entrance, a shadow against the light from outside. In the dim purple lights of Galra tech a sleek, featureless black face is visible. Shit.

Definitely no room for Keith to manoeuvre around the drone. He could smash into it, crash through. Except his bike was made for speed, not so much for sturdiness; no way it’d be able to take a hit like that without at least the engine breaking down. His only option is heading back, going with the original plan of losing the drones in the caves and leaving through one of the alternate entrances.

Keith prepares the bike to turn, glancing over his shoulder to prepare for the escape. Except now the other drone is there, blocking off the rest of the caves, thin metal arms crossed and head cocked to one side as it stares at Keith.

“Keith Kogane,” the one at the cave entrance begins, voice a drone of synthesized sound. “You are under arrest. Surrender your vehicle and come quietly.”

Keith’s fingers curl tighter around the handlebars of his bike. But he’s surrounded, and fighting his way out now would just be stupid. They already fooled him once.

So instead he cuts the engine on his bike and climbs off. His thighs are burning, hands sore and tense from being curled up for so long, tension so tight in his spine it hurts. “Fine,” he says, holding his hands out in surrender, biting down the urge to fight back. “I’ll come quietly.”


	2. it's a pocket knife not a gift from god

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [The Broken Ones - Dia Frampton](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zz04teo1j9k&ab_channel=DiaFramptonVEVO).

It’s late in the evening by the time they finally process Keith. He’s been sitting alone in a holding cell, hunched over in the corner with his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers drumming agitated rhythms on his arms. The monotonous silence breaks when a couple of Enforcement Drones whir into the room, hover engines humming as their legless bodies glide over the ground.

“Kogane,” one of them says, almost conversationally. Keith stiffens, glaring at the wall. “We are bringing you back to the orphanage. Will you cooperate?”

Keith scowls, hunches even tighter around himself. He doesn’t need an escort. It’s bad enough that he’ll be getting home so late but if Matron Ingrid sees him coming in with a couple of drones he’s dead.

“Kogane—“

“I get it,” he snarls. His fingers tighten around the sleeves of his jacket. “I’ll come with you. Just let me out of here.” 

The ride back to the orphanage is stiff and silent. Keith rides in the back of the hovercraft, wrists held together by cuffs, shoulders curled up around his ears and eyes pointed straight at the floor. They haven’t given him his bike back yet. At least one of the drones has his dagger. 

They pull up outside the orphanage in silence. It’s late, and the orphanage isn’t in a very busy part of town, so the streets are nearly empty. It’s so dark out, a thick layer of clouds covering any starlight, that not many people would be out anyway.

Keith is half-tempted to run the second they open the door. But the cuffs are tagged, he wouldn’t get very far. So instead he climbs out, wrestling away from the spindly metal fingers that curl tightly around his arm. “Get off. I can go to the door myself.”

The fingers just clamp down tighter. “Don’t struggle, Kogane.”

They shepherd him to the door pressed tight on either side of him. Like the cuffs aren’t already keeping him from running. 

A heavy knot of dread settles in the pit of Keith’s stomach as they approach the Benbow Orphanage. It’s a tall, ramshackle building, ragged and worse for wear. It looks like it’s been cobbled together with pieces of several different homes. Which isn’t all that far from the truth. Keith’s been here long enough that he helped build a few of those additions. 

Despite the late hour the Enforcement Drones don’t even bother knocking. They just shove through the door, pushing Keith out in front so hard he almost stumbles.

Matron Ingrid is furiously scribbling down paperwork when they storm in. Her deep brown eyes flicker up—and the pen in her hand drops, clattering to the wooden floor as she gasps. “Keith!” Keith winces at the shock, the—the  _ disappointment _ in her tone. Her hair is a frizzy mess, springing out from her head in wild curls, and Keith feels like shit for stressing her out that much more. “What is this?”

Keith struggles against the metal hands again, fruitlessly. “It’s nothing, Ingrid.” He glares at the featureless black face of one of the drones. “We’re done here now. You can leave.”

“Ms. Konway,” the drone says, completely ignoring Keith, digging its fingers so tightly into Keith’s collarbone it hurts. He grits his teeth and glares anywhere but at Matron Ingrid. “Kogane was caught trespassing in a restricted sector and operating a solar vehicle well above speed limits in this sector. This is a clear violation—“

“A violation of my probation, everyone here  _ knows _ that.” Keith can’t help but glance up at Matron Ingrid; the frustration and disappointment in her eyes as she stares at him makes his chest tight. “It doesn’t even matter, there was nobody around and I didn’t break anything. I was just going for a ride.”

“That isn’t the point, Keith,” Matron Ingrid says, her voice soft and harsh all at once. She shakes her head at him once. Then she looks up at the Enforcement Drones. “I apologize, officers. It  _ won’t _ happen again.”

“No, it won’t,” one of the drones agrees. “Due to his repeated violations of his probation, we have impounded his vehicle.”

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Keith wrestles against the painfully tight grip, glaring up at both drones in turn. “That’s my  _ bike _ , you can’t take her!” He  _ needs _ his bike, it’s the only thing he’s got that actually belongs to him—

“This was on Kogane when we caught him.” One of the drones holds out its hand, offering the dagger to Matron Ingrid.  _ Keith’s _ dagger. He jolts forward, makes a grab for it—and the drones haul him back, his shoulderblades smacking against metal chests. “We are placing it in your custody to decide what to do with it.”

“That’s mine!” Keith turns to Matron Ingrid, locks eyes with her as she delicately takes the dagger and slips it into a pocket of her apron. “Ingrid, I need that. I wasn’t even using it for anything illegal!”

Matron Ingrid only shakes her head at him again, and Keith’s throat goes tight. “Is that all, officers?”

“It’s obvious Kogane isn’t going to shape up.” Keith snarls through his teeth. They’re talking around him, he  _ hates _ when people talk around him, like he’s not even there, like they can’t be bothered acknowledging him as a person. “One more offense and he’ll be sent to prison.”

“We recommend a correctional college.”

Keith jolts, whipping his head around to bare his teeth at the sleek face of the drone. “I’m not going to some correctional college, you can’t—“

“That’s  _ enough _ , Keith.” At the terse bite in Matron Ingrid’s voice Keith stiffens, eyes flashing down to the floor. Now she’s angry at him. Great. “Thank you for bringing him back here. I promise, I’ll have a  _ talk _ with him.”

“You take care, Ms. Konway,” a drone says. The fingers digging into Keith’s collarbone release, and the solar engines hum as the drones hover out the door and close it behind them.

Now it’s just silent. Keith stands completely still, hands balled into fists at his sides. Matron Ingrid isn’t speaking either but he can feel her staring at him, knows the look on her face even if he can’t see it.

Finally she sighs, long and heavy and  _ exhausted _ , and guilt prods uncomfortably at Keith’s chest. “I can’t do this anymore, Keith.” At that Keith looks up, because she can’t mean  _ that _ . Matron Ingrid tugs her hands through her wild curls, deep bags under her dark eyes. “I can’t keep taking responsibility for you. You’re eighteen now. You can’t afford to be a reckless child anymore.”

“I’m not being—“ Matron Ingrid narrows her eyes at him. Keith’s mouth snaps shut and his eyes shutter off to the side, staring at a water stain on the soft yellow wallpaper that’s been here longer than he has. “I was just taking a  _ ride _ .”

Matron Ingrid covers her eyes and sighs. “You were blatantly violating your probation. You can’t  _ do that _ , Keith. There are rules in place for a reason.”

Keith bristles. “Those laws don’t even make  _ sense _ , there’s no reason—“

“ _ Keith _ !” His teeth clatter together. “I didn’t want to do this, Keith. You know I care about you. I want to help you. But I can’t—“ She chokes up, her voice going thick, and it’s like a stab to the gut. “I can’t keep doing this. I have other children to worry about, I have other responsibilities. And if you can’t learn to have some respect for the law—“

“Wait.” Keith backs up a step, hunching his shoulders. “You want to send me to correctional college?” It feels like a betrayal. Matron Ingrid has always been on his side—she can’t shuffle him off like that, she can’t put him there. “You can’t do that.”

Matron Ingrid sighs, rubs a hand down her face. “I can, Keith. I’m your legal guardian. I can, and I will.” Warm brown eyes land on him, compassionate and cold. “I’ve tried to avoid it. I tried to help you. But there’s nothing more I can do for you.”

“You think sending me off to correctional college will help me?”

“Maybe you’ll listen to them!” Matron Ingrid sighs, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I just want what’s best for you, Keith. And at this point, I don’t have the resources or the patience to be that for you anymore.”

“So you’re dumping me.” 

“Keith—“

“Whatever. Can I have my knife?” It’s still sitting in the pocket of her apron. And—Keith is off-balance without it, his fingers twitching, looking to wrap around the hilt of it. 

Matron Ingrid shakes her head at him. “I’m sorry, Keith. I can’t let you keep a weapon anymore.” Then she turns and it’s a fucking slap in the face because she’s dismissing him, like he’s nothing. “We can talk more about this tomorrow. We can find a military college together. But right now, I have to finish your chores,“ Keith swallows, his throat suddenly thick, “and I have my own work to do. Go to bed.”

Keith goes.

His bedroom isn’t much of a bedroom. Keith’s been here the longest so he gets his own room; it’s a tiny, worn-out little bedroom in the attic, with not much more than a port window and a rusty, ragged old bed. At least Keith’s alone.

He collapses on the edge of his bed. Wetness prickles at the corners of his eyes and he blinks it away, hunching over, breathing hard and deep to stop the hiccupping little gasps his lungs are trying to do. 

Keith’s alone. Again. He’s disappointed Matron Ingrid, pushed her too far. It’s a stark reminder that she’s not his mother. 

He needs—he needs to stop thinking about this. Getting caught up in his mind won’t help him at all. He needs action, he needs to  _ do _ something, nervous energy is coursing through his entire body like an electric current and Keith needs to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but somewhere that’ll send him off to a correctional college. Keith has never wanted to be corrected.

He stands, stalking over to the tiny dresser. The ceiling’s so low here he has to kneel down to reach it. Most of his clothing is nothing but plain t-shirts and tight pants; simple and easy, and he grabs all of it and stuffs it into an overnight bag. His movements are stiff, robotic. 

Once his bag’s packed Keith tosses it on his bed and sits next to it, leaning over on his elbows, fingers curled tight in his messy hair. Shit. Today’s finally the day, huh. 

But Keith isn’t leaving without his dagger. Now that the cops have his bike that dagger is all he’s got. And it’s the one thing he has left of his parents, the one thing that might  _ ever _ be able to help him find his mom. If he ever has that chance, he’s gonna need that dagger.

Matron Ingrid will probably be going to bed pretty soon. Even with extra work she’s always tried to go to bed early so she can wake up before dawn and get started on work for the day. 

Keith waits. He sits hunched over on his bed and counts the seconds, taps his fingers against his skull, breathes deep and even. The thick clouds break open and rain begins streaking down Keith’s window, a loud drumming against the roof of the orphanage. A leak in Keith’s ceiling drips water into a metal bucket below.

When the entire orphanage has gone quiet, he finally stands. Slinging the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder, Keith silently makes his way out of his room, avoiding the creakiest floorboards. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t say goodbye. That room isn’t his home anymore.

Matron Ingrid’s door is locked. Keith picks it with a pin and pushes it open as gently as he can. The room is dark, which is a good sign. Keith blinks, lets his eyes adjust to the darkness before he steps in further. Matron Ingrid is asleep in bed, wild curls strewn across her pillow, brows pinched even in sleep.

Keith wants to be mad at her. But he can’t, not really. He’s not her son. He’s just some kid who caused her even more stress than her job already did.

The dagger is on her desk, sitting on a messy pile of scattered papers. Keith grabs it and tucks it in his belt. 

He almost takes one last look at Matron Ingrid. She basically raised him for over ten years, she’s the closest thing he has to a parent. But she isn’t. So he doesn’t spare her a look, just closes the door behind him and heads for the front door. 

Keith’s always wanted out of this place. Thought it would be under different circumstances—first it was adoption, and then when he got too old for that he always hoped he’d actually make it out like a functioning adult. A job, a place of his own. Some kind of situation where he wasn’t running away.

But sometimes shit just doesn’t happen like that. Keith steps out into pouring rain, lightning flashing bright across the clouds. He closes the door behind him and marches down the front walkway, boots slapping against the light sheen of water already covering the concrete.

He walks for hours. No bike, no money to pay for a cab. Rain soaks right through to his skin, leaving him cold and shivering in the fierce wind, but Keith keeps walking. His destination is on the outskirts of the city. It’s not ideal but it’s the only place he’s really got, the only people he knows who could afford to help him temporarily until he gets his footing.

_ “Just temporarily,” _ he convinces himself. Keith’s no freeloader.

City fades into suburbs; suburbs fade into farmlands. Keith keeps walking, collar of his jacket popped up to shield his face from the wind, waterlogged overnight bag hanging heavy from his shoulder. Mud squelches under his feet, sticks to his boots and splashes up his legs with each step.

Finally, through the heavy sheets of rain, Keith’s destination appears in the distance. It’s a mansion by Keith’s standards. Massive windows, tall smokestacks, an observatory climbing off the side and glistening with rain. A long, cobblestone road stretches out in front of it, a straight drop into a foggy abyss on either side. Cliffside living. Only the rich or the ostracized get it.

Golden light streams out from the windows. Good. Still awake. Keith hitches the slipping strap of his bag higher up his shoulder and carries on.

When he reaches the door, climbs the stairs up onto the marble front porch, he rings the bell. For a second there’s silence and Keith inches back a step, ready to find somewhere else to hide until the rain passes. 

Then the door swings wide open to reveal Hunk standing on the other side. His eyes widen, looking Keith up and down. “Keith?” A smell of sweet spices accompanies him; he’s been cooking something. 

“Hey.” Keith hunches his shoulders, tries to relieve the pressure in his chest. “Can I come in?”

Hunk blinks. “Yes! Absolutely!” He steps aside, holding the door open for Keith to step inside. Once Keith is inside Hunk closes the door, blocking the fiercely cold wind. “What’s wrong, is everything okay?”

Keith frowns at the quickly-forming puddle beneath him. “I’ll clean that up.” He drops his bag to the floor with a wet thud. “And that.”

“Dude, you don’t need to worry about it.” Hunk is hovering, fluttering his hands around Keith’s shoulders. “You—you should really get that coat off. Geez, it’s pouring out there, you must be freezing!”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Keith says through gritted teeth, just as his body betrays him with a full, near-painful shiver. Even the warmth of the house isn’t doing much to help him, especially not with his soaked clothing. “C-can I use your shower?”

Hunk nods, eyes still wide and trained on Keith. “Definitely! I’ll find you some dry clothes, mine won’t fit but they’ll be better than nothing. Man, you’re soaked! Where’s your bike?”

Still dripping water, Keith follows Hunk through the opulent foyer and down one of the side hallways. “I walked here.” 

“ _ What _ ?! Why would you do that? Did your bike break down? Why didn’t you just call one of us—“

“Hunk.” It comes out with a harsher bite than Keith meant and Hunk’s mouth snaps shut, a brief wince of pain in his deep brown eyes. Shit. Keith stops, takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I just—can I explain everything after? It’s. Complicated.”

“Yeah, totally. I understand.” They reach the bathroom door and Hunk pushes it open, standing at the doorway. Whatever expression he’s got on his face—sympathy, pity—it’s making Keith’s chest hurt. “Here you go. I’ll make you hot cocoa, come up to the observatory when you’re done.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “You don’t need to—“

But Hunk is already shoving him through the bathroom door, gentle despite his brute strength. “Sorry!” He slams the door closed in Keith’s face. “Already doing it! Too late! Gonna add marshmallows!” Even through the door, Keith can hear the grin in Hunk’s muffled voice.

No point arguing now. Keith peels off his wet clothes, draping them over the towel rack. Then he turns the shower all the way up and steps under the stream of scalding water.

Five minutes later—no matter how rich they are, Keith’s not gonna waste someone else’s water—he steps out into the bathroom, hair dripping and pale skin pink from the heat. He towels himself down with a fluffy white towel, wrapping it around his waist when he’s done and opening the door just a crack.

True to Hunk’s word, there’s a pile of clothes sitting just beyond the door. The shirt is obviously Hunk’s; yellow and white stripes, hanging off Keith’s narrow shoulders and falling around his thighs like a shapeless dress. There are shorts too, soft and flannel. Definitely not Hunk’s. They fit well enough, though, so Keith slips them on over his own underwear and starts the trek up to the observatory.

When Keith opens the door it’s to an immediate view of Pidge, perched on a desk covered in trinkets, a steaming mug cupped in her hands. “Keith! Hey!” She waves at him, grinning over the rim of the mug. “Hunk said you walked here? What the hell?”

Hunk sighs. “C’mon, Pidge, give him a second to settle in, at least.” With a soft smile, he gives Keith a bright red mug filled with hot cocoa and piled high with marshmallows. Huh. Kept his promise. “Sorry about her. C’mon, I started a fire, you should really sit down.”

“My shorts look good on you,” Pidge says, adjusting her thick glasses with a sly grin. 

Keith narrows his eyes at her, glaring over his shoulder as he follows Hunk to the fireplace. “You have a hot cocoa mustache.”

Pidge slips down from the desk, joining them at the fireplace as Keith settles cross-legged into an armchair. “Joke’s on you,” she says, pursing her lips, “I can totally rock a mustache.” She climbs onto the back of one of the couches, perching on the top with one leg dangling down because Pidge has never sat on anything like a normal person.

With a snort, Keith takes a sip of the cocoa. Sweet, but not too sweet. And hot enough that it warms him from the inside without burning his tongue. “You look like Matt when he tried growing facial hair.”

Pidge sticks out her tongue.

“Alright, alright.” Hunk collapses onto the couch, elbow knocking against Pidge’s knee. Warm brown eyes land on Keith. Waiting. “So . . . what happened?”

“I got arrested again.”

Pidge’s eyes go wide. “Keith—“

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Keith says, narrowing his eyes at the tiny marshmallows bobbing in his steaming cocoa. “They caught me on a ride down at the old Galra factory. Wasn’t anybody around.”

Hunk makes a face. “You went there? Yeesh, that place always gives me the creeps. Feels like the Galra are still watching me.”

Keith shrugs. He’s never been able to explain why he likes it there. “It’s not that bad. The Galra Empire doesn’t exist anymore.” Ghosts of a dissolved empire aren’t going to haunt him. The factory is just a factory. 

“You’re weird, but whatever.” Pidge leans forward, balanced precariously on the back of the couch. “So, you got arrested. What does that have to do with you being here? And without your bike? That’s just stupid, Keith.”

When Keith glares at her, she just raises an eyebrow. “They impounded my bike. And Matron Ingrid—she was gonna send me to a correctional college.” Keith had to get out of there.

“Oh.” Hunk’s face screws up in—in  _ pity _ . Keith’s chest goes tight and he looks away, fingers curling tighter around the mug. “Sorry about your bike, man. And sorry about Ingrid.” His tone is soft. Too soft. Makes Keith’s insides twist.

“Yeah.”

“So, what are you gonna do?” Pidge sits up a little straighter, looks at Keith with the same painful softness as in Hunk’s expression. “You can’t go back, right? I mean, if they put you in correctional college we’ll never see you, and they’ll probably make you cut your hair—not exactly the worst thing they could do, but the mullet kinda suits you—“

“ _ Pidge _ .”

“Right, sorry!” She grins, sheepish and apologetic. “Anyway. D’you know what you’re gonna do?”

“Well, he’s staying with us, obviously.” Hunk gives Keith a look, significant and warm. A heavy weight lifts off Keith’s chest at the suggestion. He didn’t want to be the one to say it. “Since Matt moved out we’ve got plenty of room, and you’re like scary tidy so we know you won’t leave a mess.”

Keith hunches his shoulders. There’s a warm pressure in his chest and it’s starting to make his heart hurt. “Thank you.” He takes a sip of the hot cocoa. For just a second, it tastes a little too sweet. “I swear I won’t be here long. Just until I can support myself.”

“No need to rush,” Pidge says with a grin. “It’ll be nice having another assistant around! Someone who isn’t so afraid to experiment.”

Hunk crosses his arms. “Your last experiment almost destroyed the observatory.”

Keith remembers. There are still scorch marks on the walls they’ve never been able to fully get rid of. As Hunk and Pidge descend into pointless bickering he stares at the burned wallpaper, nursing the mug of cocoa in his hands. 

It’ll only be for a little while. He’s not inconveniencing them any longer than necessary.


	3. i'll start before i can stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Speed of Sound - Colplay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0k_1kvDh2UA&ab_channel=ColdplayOfficial).

_ Two Months Later _

“Did you really get this old thing working again?”

Keith slides out from beneath the aircraft, sitting up on the hovering plank and wiping his greasy hands off on his pants. Standing over him is Thace, yellow eyes glowing and arms crossed. He looks impressed.

Keith just shrugs, runs a hand back through his mess of hair. “Yeah.” He turns to pat the side of the aircraft. It’s an old thing, from back before solar energy was commonplace and instead they used air and oil engines. “She’s still got some kinks, but the engine is running again.” Keith likes old motors. There’s something simple about them, something real. Easier to manipulate than solar energy.

“Wow.” Thace nods, tufted ears twitching. “Impressive. Mr. Pike will be pleased.”

A smile pushes through the concentration and Keith ducks his head, pushing his choppy bangs out of his face. “Good. He’s one of our bigger customers, right?” Marmora’s Garage doesn’t get much service. It’s cliffside, too far out for most regular people to bother. And any rich people that might be tempted by it are usually put off by Thace.

All because he’s Galra. Everyone says the violet skin and purple fur and glowing golden eyes are off-putting, a reminder of the massive Empire that once spanned the galaxy. But nobody’s even been alive long enough to remember what it was like living under the Galra regime. Not many aliens other than Galra have lifespans that long.

Keith likes Thace. The man’s been good to him, ever since he was shuttled down to Earth and put into Benbow Orphanage. Thace picked up where Keith’s dad left off, taught him how to ride and how to fix things. Gave him the opportunities to be a little more than some orphan punk. 

Thace used to tell him stories, too. Bedtime stories, about Emperor Zarkon, how he became a pirate king. About his vast fortune. Zarkon’s Fortune, an entire trove of the remainder of the Galra Empire’s fortune.

Keith’s never been good at make-believe, but playing pirates with Pidge and Hunk, Thace wrapped up in a blanket-cloak pretending to be Emperor Zarkon—he almost misses it.

But Keith’s too old for bedtime stories now. So he wipes his face with a grease-stained rag and pushes himself up from the hovering board, kicking the switch so it clatters to the floor like a regular chunk of metal. “This is all I can do for today,” he says, patting the antique hovercraft. “Until we get those new parts in.”

Thace nods. “They should be arriving in a couple days.”

That’s one of the benefits of working cliffside. They’ve got a single dock nearby so it’s real easy for deliveries from everywhere, even the spaceport.

Keith tucks his rag back into his tool belt, rolling his narrow shoulders. Tension has made them sore lately, strung out through his back. “So? Anything else for me to work on today?” He’s never liked breaks.

Humming under his breath, Thace surveys the workshop. It’s pretty damn big for being so far out, filled with more than a few works in progress. “Nothing I can immediately think of. Did you take a look at Ms. Moray’s engine?”

“Yeah. Couple of faulty power converters. Nothing serious, should be able to fix it as soon as we get that shipment in.”

Thace nods. “Good.” His yellow eyes flicker around the room. Used to be tough for Keith to tell where he was looking, back when he was a little kid, but over the years he’s understood the faint shifts of light. “I know you aren’t going to let me send you home early, so why don’t you get started with some clean-up?”

A wry grin spreads across Keith’s face. “Sure thing, boss.” 

He lets his mind drift as he mops up, moving around the room efficiently. Keith’s always kinda liked chores. There’s something nice about working with his hands, cleaning up after himself.

“Hey, Thace?” he calls out, leaning the mop up against the wall. The floor isn’t exactly spotless—it’s stained in a dozen different places with a dozen different colours—but today’s mess has been cleaned up. “I’m gonna head out, give that car one last coat.”

Thace only nods, focused on the record books in front of him. He’s busy, so Keith doesn’t bother him any longer; he steps out the side door. Staring him in the face is a hovercar so startlingly shiny it hurts his eyes when the sun glints off it. The chrome paint is annoying, but a job is a job. Keith loads up another canister of paint into the airbrush, rubs dried residue off the nozzle. One more coat should be enough for this thing. It’s already a mirrored monstrosity.

Before Keith can start up the airbrush something creaks and groans overhead. The sound of breaking metal screams through the air and Keith jolts, immediately looking up, trying to find the source—and there’s a ship crashing through the clouds, twisted black metal and harsh violet lights flickering along its sides. Fire and sparks stream from the end of it as it dives straight to the dock.

“Shit,” Keith says, the airbrush clattering to the ground as he runs to the dock. The ship hits with a crash and a cloud of thick black smoke. Keith coughs, waves his hand to clear it, ignoring the acrid taste clinging heavy on his tongue. “Anyone in there?” He bangs on the cockpit window but inside there’s nothing but more black smoke, swirling in the small space and impossible to see through. “Hey! You alive?”

For a second it looks like the ship is empty. Then the cockpit window swings open, black smoke billowing out as a crumpled form falls against the metal docks. Keith’s not waiting for them to move. He grabs the soot-covered form under the arms and drags them away from the burning wreckage. 

Keith’s only just reached solid ground—whoever the pilot is, they’re over a foot taller and way heavier than that lanky form would suggest—when the ship explodes. A shockwave of heat slams into Keith full force and he stumbles, falling on his ass.

He blinks, ears ringing. Shit. Shaking his head, Keith sits up, rubbing soot out of his eyes and off his face. 

The pilot’s still there, crumpled on the ground next to Keith, dressed up in weird black armour and still covered in soot. They’ve got pointed ears, that much Keith can tell, and even through the layer of soot he can see soft purple lights glowing on the chest piece of the armour.

Then the pilot opens their eyes. Pure, vibrant yellow stares at Keith. 

Galra.

“Shit.” Keith scrambles to his knees, clumsy and shaken. “Shit, you alright?”

“He’s coming,” the Galra says, his voice distinctly masculine. “He was right behind me, he’ll be here soon.” He coughs, clutching his chest. “We must—we need to—“

“Shut up,” Keith growls. He pushes himself to his feet, loops the Galra’s arm around his shoulder and hauls him up. “You need help—lemme get you inside, we can call a doctor.” And they’ve got at least a first aid kit in the shop. 

When Keith drags the Galra through the open garage door Thace just blinks, staring at him. “What in the—“

“His ship just crashed, he needs our help,” Keith says, slamming the button to close the garage door behind him, hauling the Galra over to the ratty old couch they have set up as a makeshift waiting room. “We’ve got first aid, right? He—“

Another bout of coughing as Keith lays the Galra down on the couch. “Don’t—don’t bother,” the man says, still clutching at his sleek chestpiece. “I won’t make it. You must—you have to—“ More coughing—when he pulls away, there’s deep violet blood staining his fist. “He’s after the key. That—that repulsive cyborg and his band of cutthroats. But I won’t allow it—I cannot allow it to fall into their hands.”

“What are you talking about?” Keith crouches down, staring at the guy. “Nevermind. Doesn’t matter. Just tell us your name. Who are you?”

“My name is Ulaz, but that—that doesn’t matter!” The Galra—Ulaz—shudders with the next bout of coughing. Distantly, like he’s underwater, Keith can hear Thace rush up behind him. But Ulaz’s yellow eyes are piercing right through him. “You—little one. You have to protect it from him. I tried—I tried so many times to help him, but he’s—” More coughing, visceral and violent, and purple blood drips down the corner of Ulaz’s mouth. “There’s no getting through to the Champion.”

Keith grabs his shoulder, fingers tight around the hard metal shoulder plating. “What are you talking about?”

But Ulaz just coughs, yellow eyes finally fluttering shut. “He’ll be coming soon. I cannot let him find this.” His hands move to his hip, grab something. Quicker than Keith can see, a cloth-wrapped parcel is being pressed into his hands.

Instinctively Keith’s hands tighten around the object. It’s a sphere of some kind, radiating cold even through the cloth. “Who’s coming?”

A soot-covered hand closes tightly around the back of his neck. Ulaz draws him in close, stares into Keith with wide yellow eyes. “The Galra cyborg. Beware the Galra cyborg.” 

His hand slips away. 

“He’s dead,” Thace says, like he can’t quite believe it. 

Keith’s hand tightens around the package. It’s obviously important, if this guy was willing to die for it. To die for it not to fall into the hands of a ‘Galra cyborg’. 

A whirring engine outside drowns out anything Keith was going to say. He shoots up, heart hammering in his chest, shoving the package into his coat and curling his hands into fists. “He’s coming,” he snarls, facing the closed garage door. With one fluid movement he pulls out his knife, twirls it in his wrist just to remember the feel of it. “We can deal with this, we just have to—”

“Keith.” A hand lands heavy and stabilizing on Keith’s shoulder. He glances behind him to see Thace standing too, a solemn look on his alien features. “You need to get out of here.”

“ _ What _ ?” Keith’s hands tremble with rage, indignation—he clenches his fists tighter to quell it. “I’m not leaving you here! We can take them.  _ Together _ !”

But Thace’s expression only hardens, his hand curling tighter around Keith’s shoulder. “Keith, did you hear him? He was talking about the Galra. About a  _ Champion _ .” He says the word like it’s significant, something Keith should understand. He doesn’t. “If there’s a Champion we can’t let them get whatever that thing is.” Thace’s face gets cold, his yellow eyes harder than steel. “I won’t live through another Galra Empire.”

Sometimes Keith forgets just how old Thace is. How much more shit he’s seen. But he puffs up in anger, lips curling in a snarl. “You won’t live if I leave you here! They’ll tear you apart!” There are already gunshots sounding outside, rebounding off the metal garage door. Won’t take long for them to get through.

“Keith.” Thace squeezes his shoulder, and something cold and heavy burrows deep in Keith’s chest. “ _ Go _ .”

Keith won’t cry. He clenches his jaw, nods up at Thace. “Thanks for everything,” he says, grabs Thace’s arm and squeezes. “See you on the other side.” He ignores the tremor in his own voice.

“Good luck, Keith.”

There’s a back exit, a smaller garage door where Keith used to bring in his own bike. He slams the button to open it, scrambles onto one of the hoverbikes he fixed up the other day. This time he can’t help but look back, eyes locked with Thace’s as he speeds through the door and into a cloudy night.

The last thing Keith sees is purple. Bright, violent purple. And then he’s gone, and Marmora’s Garage is alight with flashes of purple and screaming as Keith disappears into darkness.

* * *

Hunk climbs up the stairs to the observatory. “I just talked to the police,” he says. His voice is soft. Too soft, like he’s trying not to push Keith too hard. Like he thinks Keith is fragile. “They said there was no evidence of pirates at the garage.”

Figures. Marmora Garage was  _ burning _ , a bright light against the dark sky until Keith couldn’t see it. But it was Galra-owned, and nobody’s gonna go out of their way to save a Galra.

“There was . . . no trace of Thace, either.”

Keith closes his eyes. A second to mourn, that’s it. Heaviness settles in his chest, pressing down on his lungs. He breathes out, opens his eyes. “Okay.”

Pity wells up in the depths of Hunk’s eyes. Looking at him, his expression—Keith’s head hurts, an ache through his skull. “Keith . . .”

“Hey, Pidge?” She perks up, sitting straighter on the arm of the chair, eyes focusing on Keith through the thick panes of her glasses. “Do you know who the Champion is?” He taps his fingers against the cloth parcel sitting on his lap. He hasn’t opened it yet. It feels . . . strange.

Pidge purses her lips. “I don’t know much about Galra stuff, Keith. Except their tech. I mean, I can check my databases again, see if any of the information I’ve downloaded from scans of their technology will give us anything, but that’s assuming that this Champion was somehow important to factories—that’s where most of my info is from, after all—or that the data wasn’t corrupted or lost over time.” She lets out a long breath, brows furrowing. “So, probably not. Sorry.”

Keith scowls at the spherical parcel in his lap.  _ Champion _ . The title is sticking in Keith’s head, digging into his brain like something sharp. There’s a significance there. Feels like he should know what it means.

“So, are you ever gonna open that thing?” When Keith glances up Pidge has her eyes locked on the parcel. “Don’t you want to see what’s inside? It must be important, right?”

She’s right. There’s no reason for Keith to be stalling on this. He pulls at the rough twine holding the cloth in place, loosening it until the beige cloth starts to slip away. A hint of black metal peeks through and Keith pulls the cloth off the rest of the way, letting it fall to the ground.

It’s a black sphere, made of a dark, reflective metal that chills Keith’s hands like ice. The entire surface is covered in tiny carved designs, harsh lines and sharp curves, some of them bigger than others like grooves in the metal. There’s a pull to it, a magnetic force that seems to have a grip around Keith’s spine.

“It’s . . . Galra,” Keith murmurs, turning the sphere over in his hands. He’s not sure why that’s surprising. Ulaz was Galra, and so was the cyborg chasing this thing.

“Huh.” Compassion forgotten, thankfully, Hunk collapses onto the couch next to Keith. He narrows his eyes at the orb, head cocked to the side. “Hey, does anyone else think it looks like a puzzle box? Those symbols are all unique, there’s gotta be some kinda significance there.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “It’s not a box, Hunk.”

“Puzzle  _ sphere _ , then.” Hunk takes the sphere gently from Keith’s hands. There’s a tug on Keith’s insides and he almost lurches, catching himself and pressing back against the couch just in time. “And I’m serious! Maybe if we can figure out what these symbols mean, we can get it working. If it’s even something that works. Who knows, maybe this is some kind of expensive Galra decoration.”

“Toss it here!” Hunk complies and Pidge catches it in two small hands, bringing it close to her face to inspect it. “Wow, this is a  _ lot _ of different symbols. The different possible permutations are almost infinite. I mean, maybe I could crack it if I had unlimited time, but we don’t even know the format of the combination!” 

Hunk hums. “Maybe it’s not that complicated? Maybe there’s a trick to it.”

“ _ Or _ I need to check my databanks for evidence of these symbols! If any of them have a particular meaning then maybe we can match them up. From there it probably wouldn’t be too complicated to devise a program to compare symbols to meanings and figure out the most likely combinations . . .” She slides down off the arm of the chair, still rambling, leaving the orb perched in the centre of the chair. Hunk follows, making suggestions. More than Keith can keep up with. He’s not a genius like those two.

But that orb is sticking. He can’t look away from it, can’t get it out of his mind. 

Hunk and Pidge are still rambling when Keith gets up. He plucks the orb from the chair, turns it over a few times. The symbols—they make sense but they don’t. Keith presses a couple of them, a random sequence that feels deliberate. And—the symbols start glowing, harsh violet. Galra violet.

“Woah.” He says it so quietly that Pidge and Hunk don’t even seem to notice. Keith ignores their conversation, ignores Pidge’s increasingly frantic suggestions. He twists his hands and a chunk of the orb twists too, like a complicated puzzle cube. A few more twists and the entire thing lights up bright violet, light streams from every symbol and floats through the room—

“What in the world?” Pidge leaps down from where she’s been perched on her desk, almost tripping in her rush to get over to Keith. The violet light is spreading, almost a tangible collection of particles forming a wide circle through the room. “How did you do that?”

Keith shrugs. “I just did it.” He watches, fingers tight around cold black metal. The light grows brighter, connecting in a grid that surrounds them, passing seamlessly through Hunk as he joins the two of them in the middle of the room. 

Then the light bursts—like an explosion, searing against Keith’s eyes. When he blinks the room is filled with tiny twinkling lights. They almost look like dust particles in sunlight, but brighter. 

“It’s a map,” Pidge says, awe in her voice. “These are stars! It’s a galaxy map!.” Violet light glints off her glasses as she skips past Keith, straight to a single spark of light. “Look! This is the Sol system! You can actually see Earth here!” She presses her finger to the light—and the entire map starts moving.

“Oh no,” Hunk groans. Keith’s barely paying attention to him; he can’t keep his eyes off the stars soaring past him. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Just do it in a wastebin,” Pidge drawls. Then her face lights up, a grin spreading as she bounces over to a dusty cluster of light. “That’s the Magellanic Cloud! Oh, and there’s the Coral Galaxy!” She spins, head whipping back and forth like she’s trying to catalogue everything as it flashes by. “The Cygnus Cross! And there’s the Kerian Abyss—”

A lone star comes into view. Then the map changes, it starts zooming in, until a single planet made of light shines brighter and bigger than Pidge’s head. A planet with two crossing rings. A planet Keith has seen in Thace’s storybooks.

“Zarkon’s Fortune,” Keith says. Childish excitement bubbles up in his chest.

“No way,” Pidge murmurs, hand coming up to pass through the glowing light. “The entire fortune of the Galra Empire. That is  _ unreal _ .”

Hunk coughs. “Yeah, it is unreal. I mean, you guys know Zarkon’s Fortune doesn’t actually exist, right? It’s a story? Emperor Zarkon was killed when the Galra Empire was overthrown.”

Pidge whirls around and Keith moves with her, eyes narrowed at Hunk. “That’s never been strictly proven and you know it,” she snaps, marching over to Hunk and planting her feet, hands on her slim hips. “Zarkon’s body was never found, and  _ someone _ had to commit all those crimes he was accused of!”

Hands lifted in surrender, Hunk shrugs. “I mean, those could have been done by any Galra. People were terrified of them back then, they would’ve believed anyone was Emperor Zarkon trying to retake his empire.”

“Ulaz died for this.” Keith tosses the orb in his hands, rolling the cold metal against his palms. “He died to make sure some Galra Champion didn’t get it. And Thace—” He stops, clenching his jaw, staring at the map to avoid whatever look Hunk and Pidge must be giving him. “It’s gotta be real.” 

“Keith . . .”

“It’s  _ true _ !” Keith twists the orb and the map disappears, the lights dissolving in a fraction of a second. “I know it is. I can just . . . I can  _ feel _ it.” There’s something pulling him, a tug from the orb.

Pidge claps her hands together, grins a touch too wildly. “It’d be an unprecedented scientific discovery!” She immediately starts moving, fiddling with things as she goes. “I’ve got the money to fund an expedition, it’s not like it’s being used for anything else! We can commission a ship, hire a captain and crew, and head up to the spaceport within a week!”

“Um.” Hunk makes a face, watching Pidge as she circles around the room. “Shouldn’t we, I dunno, talk about it first? Maybe have a long discussion when we’re not full of adrenaline?”

Keith huffs out a laugh, watching the gears turn behind Pidge’s bright eyes as she paces. “Nope.”


	4. show me your teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Teeth - Lady Gaga](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vk5vRoc0_nk&ab_channel=red4and4blue0210).

When he steps off the shuttle and onto the ramp leading down to the spaceport, Keith can’t help but stare. Everything looks the same. The gleaming white surface of the spaceport curves up in a crescent shape on either side, covered in shiny buildings and bustling with people as far as Keith can see. Ships float by overhead, sails glimmering with solar energy.

It even smells the same. Solar exhaust fumes and ship polish and a hint of fresh-baked bread from the markets scattered across the entire thing. Keith takes a deep breath, grips the strap of his bag harder before finally starting down the ramp. 

His feet finally touch the spaceport. It’s like a punch to the gut, knocking all the air out of his lungs. He’d forgotten how much brighter the stars are up here.

“This place is amazing!” Pidge comes bounding down the ramp, skidding to a stop next to Keith and staring at everything with wide eyes and a grin. “I’ve never seen so many aliens in one place! And look at those ships!” 

“Do they all go that fast?” Right behind Pidge follows Hunk. Just like always. He’s looking up at the ships passing overhead, face twisted in discomfort. “I’m not great with flying and those all look  _ really _ fast, are you sure we can’t just head back home?”

Pidge flaps her hand. “Nah, they’re not all that fast. Our ship’s gonna be faster.”

“Oh, great.”

Repositioning his bag strap on his shoulder, Keith heads off in the direction of their docking bay. “C’mon, our ship should be this way.” Pidge and Hunk follow close behind and Keith can’t help but glance at everything as he passes it. His dad used to work in this area. Used to bring Keith along sometimes, show him how a solar engine worked, how solar sails could keep an entire ship afloat.

“You okay?” Pidge’s eyes narrow, lips pressed together in consideration. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

“Been a while since I’ve been up here,” Keith says, glancing up the curve of the massive crescent-moon spaceport. “Spent a lot of time in this area.” They lived about ten minutes away, in a cluttered and cramped little apartment. Keith can’t remember much about it anymore.

A hand curls around his shoulder. Hunk. “How does it feel to be back?”

Keith shrugs. “Different. The same. I missed it here.” He always wanted to go on an adventure on a spaceship someday. That dream didn’t last long once he got shipped down to Earth. “C’mon, Docking Bay 7E is around that corner.”

He leads them through the crowd, bag pressed tightly to his side. When they round the corner it leads to a huge bay, scattered with people and supplies and open to the sky.

And there, hovering above the bay, gleaming white and gold in the sunlight, is their ship.

“There she is,” Keith murmurs, staring up at it. “The COL Voltron.”

She’s a massive, elegant galleon, all white wood and gold metal. Her sails aren’t yet unfurled but even closed Keith can tell how big they are, how powerful the COL Voltron is. The crew Pidge hired is already scattered across her, preparing her for voyage; from what Keith can see they’re entirely aliens. 

Hunk hums. “Wow.” Both Hunk and Pidge have stopped to stare, eyes wide and gleaming as they take her in. “That’s a big ship.” Even Hunk’s voice is filled with awe.

“Well what are we waiting for!” A tiny hand closes around Keith’s and suddenly he’s being tugged alongside Hunk, arm wrenched painfully from Pidge’s surprising brute force. “Let’s board! You guys aren’t gonna believe who I managed to get as our Captain and First Mate, it’s almost impossible to hire anyone from the Altean Navy but I had an ‘inside source’—”

Keith looks at Hunk, hoping for explanation of what the hell Pidge is rambling about, but Hunk just shrugs even as they’re being tugged up the boarding ramp to the ship. Up on deck he can hear the sound of someone shouting—something about stowing cargo and heaving.

When they finally get onto the ship Pidge immediately sprints off, flinging herself at the back of someone done up in a white and blue suit. Altean Navy, Keith remembers that specific design. 

At the last second the person spins around—and he’s nearly identical to Pidge, with messy brown hair and wide eyes behind thick glasses. Keith blinks, staring as Matt Holt catches Pidge around the middle, wrapping his arms tight around her in a hug.

“Katie!” Both of them laugh, identical bundles of energy wrapped up in gangly, slightly freckled bodies. Matt sets Pidge down and ruffles her hair, grinning over her head at Keith and Hunk. “Hunk! Keith! It’s so great to see you all, it’s been a few years!” He doesn’t look much different. Taller, maybe. Slightly broader in the shoulders.

Keith shuffles forward, sticking out his hand for a handshake. “Hey, Matt.” He glances to Pidge, almost grinning at the sparkle in her eyes. “You didn’t tell us Matt made Captain.”

Matt laughs, clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder amicably. “Oh, I’m not the Captain. The Captain’s aloft.” He points up without even looking. “She should be coming down right . . . about . . .”

A flash of white lands on deck right next to them, so sudden that both Hunk and Pidge yelp. Keith’s hands twitch toward the dagger at his belt. 

Then the form straightens up, tossing her snow-white waves over her shoulder and standing before them with her shoulders back and her hands clasped behind her back. She’s tall and slender, with dark skin and narrow, elegant features, tiny pink crescents around her bright blue eyes marking her as Altean.

“Good day, Mr. Holt,” she says, voice delicate and accented with something light and airy. Blue eyes trace over the three of them; there’s something dismissive in her eyes when she looks at Keith that makes his insides churn. Then her gaze lands on Pidge, and a slight smile graces her lips. “You must be Ms. Holt. Matt has told me much about you.”

Pidge grins. “And you’re Captain Allura.” She elbows Hunk in the side. “This is Hunk Garett, my assistant-slash-best friend, and that’s our other best friend Keith Kogane!” Her eyes go wide, excitement bright in her grin. “He’s the one who found the—”

Allura coughs, loud and disruptive, glancing around the ship with narrowed eyes. “I apologize for the interruption,” she says, her voice suddenly lower, harsher. Blue eyes sweep over all of them. “Might we all have a word in my stateroom?” She doesn’t wait for a response, only stalks past them and heads up the stairs towards the stern of the ship.

“Captain’s orders,” is all Matt says, grinning and curling his hand around Pidge’s shoulder as he follows Allura up the stairs. For a second there’s an uneasy silence. Keith glances around, looks out for anything suspicious. The crew is staring at them all, frozen in whatever they were doing before Pidge almost mentioned the map. Then Matt calls, “everyone, back to work!” and they all start moving again, returning to their jobs like nothing even happened.

It’s setting Keith on edge, making the base of his spine itch. Something’s off.

He follows the rest of the group, bringing up the rear. When they reach Allura’s stateroom there’s a man already inside, tall and gangly, a vivid orange mustache on his upper lip and blue crescents around his eyes. Another Altean.

Allura spins the lock on the door to her stateroom behind them with a finality that somehow rubs Keith the wrong way. She turns, striding towards the group of them, hands clasped behind her back and head held high. “Everyone, I would like you to meet Navigator Coran.”

The Altean—Coran—waves at them, a pleasant grin on his face. “Hello all! Welcome aboard the COL Voltron!”

Allura nods. “Thank you, Coran. Now, onto the matter at hand.” Eyes sharp like shards of glass land on Pidge. “I appreciate your enthusiasm for the project, Ms. Holt. However, it would be unwise to discuss it in front of this particular crew.”

There’s distaste in her tone. Keith bristles, crossing his arms. “Why?”

Those same piercing eyes land on him, hard and guarded. Keith knows that look. “Shall I begin with the fact that they’re basically pirates? Though I understand the need for a crew of this size and skill, even just having them on the ship is a liability to the entire mission. And the fact that they are composed of Galra—”

“What’s wrong with that?” 

Allura’s lips press together in a line, her eyes hardening. “The Galra Empire caused endless suffering and destroyed countless lives. Millions of children were left alone when their parents went off to fight in the wars.” She stands a little straighter, squares her shoulders. “Alteans,  _ my people _ , were nearly wiped out.”

“You think there weren’t just as many Galra being oppressed on the other side of the war?” Red-hot anger expands in Keith’s chest, pressing against his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He curls his fists, fingernails digging into his palms. “I met two Galra in my life, and  _ both _ of them died to keep the map away from whoever the fuck the Champion is.”

A nerve twitches in Allura’s face. “You’ve . . .  _ met  _ Galra?”

“Yeah.” Keith shoves his fists into the pockets of his jackets, curls one hand around the cold metal of the map. “One of ‘em was—we were close.” He swallows. “They aren’t all the same.”

Allura narrows her eyes. “They only died before they had the chance to cross you. No Galra aid ever comes without a price.” Before Keith can say something—before he can get angry, blow up, maybe try to reason and explain—she turns away from him and strides across the room. “I want to make something clear. The purpose of this expedition is to uncover that treasure, and use it to rebuild what the  _ Galra Empire _ destroyed.” She spins, sweeps her gaze across them. “The map, please.”

The soft grooves of the symbols dig into Keith’s palm as he tightens his grip. “Keith,” Pidge murmurs, elbowing him gently in the side. “C’mon, give her the map.”

Keith breathes. In, out. Steady. “Fine.”

He tosses it in the air. Allura catches it with a graceful ease, rolling it into her other hand to inspect it. “Oh!” There’s a flash of light in her eyes, a brightness. Then it’s gone, snuffed out by her serious expression. “Wonderful.” She stalks across the room, opens a safe on the wall and rolls the map inside. 

Keith’s hands twitch. He wants it back. It’s illogical, irrational, stupid, but he feels better having it.

“Nobody will mention this map to any of the crew, under any circumstances.” She glances over them. “Ms. Holt, Mr. Garett, you will both be working directly under Mr. Holt. I am tasking you with the upkeep of the ship’s engines.” She nods. “I trust the both of you will perform to the best of your ability.”

“What about me?” Keith doesn’t like people talking like he’s not there. He doesn’t like the look Allura’s giving him, like he’s untrustworthy street trash. “I’m good with engines.”

“Mr. Kogane.” Her tone is heavy with dislike. “You will address me as either ‘Captain’ or ‘ma’am’. Am I being clear?”

Keith bristles. He can feel everyone staring at him, Pidge and Hunk and Matt watching in case he snaps. But he won’t. If Allura—Captain Allura—won’t respect him, he’ll earn it. Wouldn’t be the first time. “Yes, ma’am.”

Allura nods. “That will do. You will be working as a cabin boy under our cook, Mr. Shirogane.”

Keith’s about to argue—he doesn’t belong as a cabin boy, he  _ knows engines _ —Hunk coughs, raising his hand. “Um, can I work under the cook? I could do some really amazing things with ship rations, believe me, and Keith—”

“Sorry, Mr. Garett,” Allura says, lifting a hand to cut him off. “You are vital to the wellbeing and upkeep of this ship.” It’s a dig at Keith.  _ You aren’t _ . He’s not going to respond to it. Allura’s eyes flicker over to Coran; he’s been watching everything somewhat warily, but as soon as Allura looks at him he perks up. “Coran, dear, would you escort Mr. Kogane down to the galley and introduce him to Mr. Shirogane?”

Coran salutes, a bright grin on his face. “Yes, ma’am!” He almost bounces over to Keith. “Come along, young chap!”

Keith looks at Allura one last time. Her expression is careful, hardened, eyes cold and calculating as she watches him leave. Then he turns, and follows Coran out of the stateroom.

* * *

“Mr. Shirogane is just down here!” Coran ushers Keith down a set of stairs leading down to the galley. Something about him—his mannerisms, maybe the mustache—makes Keith think of a butler. “He’s a polite gentleman; I’m sure you’ll quite like him!”

Doubtful. Keith can cook, sure, he can clean and do menial work. It was basically all he did at the orphanage. But he’s only down here because Allura doesn’t like him, and that’s unfair. He’s good with engines, he’s the one who found the map, who uncovered what it really was. And now he’s stuck as a cabin boy because apparently Allura’s prejudice against Galra extends to anyone that likes them.

Keith hunches his shoulders, shoves his hands into his pockets as they descend the stairs. The faint sound of whistling, melodic and sweet, grates on his nerves like a dull knife. A rich scent of something meaty and stew-like floats up the stairs.

“Now, remember that you’ll be working under Mr. Shirogane! He’s a pleasant fellow but he’s rather busy, so I’m sure he’ll have plenty of work for you!” Coran is rambling, chipper and excited, and Keith—Keith isn’t paying attention anymore.

There’s a shadowy silhouette of a man standing in the kitchen. Keith can only see his side but he looks actually  _ human _ . The first human he’s seen other than Matt. In the dim light not much is visible; he’s tall and probably somewhere in his late twenties, muscular with a slim waist, his dark hair cropped short except for the shock of white hanging down in his angular face. His sleeves are pushed up around his elbows, showing off bulging muscles in his arms, and—

Keith’s face goes hot. He curls in on himself, wills the blush away. Mr. Shirogane is undeniably hot and he’s going to be working for him for at least three months, that’s a long time in close quarters and Keith’s never been attracted to someone he couldn’t avoid before.

“Mr. Shirogane!”

Mr. Shirogane cocks his head, the whistling coming to a halt. “Coran,” he says, voice pleasantly deep, a smile on his face as he half-turns their way. “Give me a second.” He wipes a hand on his apron and turns to face them.

His right eye is glowing yellow. Bright yellow, no pupil and no sclera.  _ Galra _ yellow. 

That yellow eye lands on Keith, starting a slow sweep up his body. His gaze tracks heat across Keith’s skin but he ignores it. “You must be one of the new crew.” Mr. Shirogane smiles, right hand coming up to press against his chest as he nods. “My name is Takashi Shirogane, but you can call me Shiro.” His hand is metal, grey and black and glinting softly in the dim light of the open stove. The metal extends up beyond his rolled up sleeve. Keith glances down and his right foot is bootless, gleaming with the same black and grey metal.

Shiro’s a cyborg. A cyborg with a Galra eye.

“Mr. Shirogane!” Coran pushes Keith between his shoulder blades, sending him a few steps forward and closer to Shiro. “This is Keith Kogane! He’ll be working for you as a cabin boy for the duration of the expedition!”

Shiro smiles, soft and non-threatening despite his broad shoulders and tall stature and the eeriness of his glowing yellow eye. “Keith, huh? Nice to meet you.” He extends his hand. The metal hand. It’s almost silent as it moves, only a slight creak of metal. Well made and well cared for.

Keith only glares at it, hands curled stubbornly inside his pockets. His eyes flash up to Shiro’s face, to the disarmingly gentle grin.

But Shiro only sighs, smiling slightly. “I get it.” He flexes the fingers of the cyborg arm. “It takes everyone some time to get used to. But I promise, there’s nothing to be wary about. It’s actually pretty useful.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two to get to know each other!” Coran smiles widely at both of them, saluting proudly. “Play nice! Captain’s orders!” Then he’s gone, disappearing up the stairs with a surprising amount of grace. And Keith is left down in the galley. Alone with Shiro.

“So, Keith.” Keith whips his head around. Shiro’s leaning against the counter, the same open smile still on his face, muscled arms crossed across his broad chest. “Have you ever been anywhere on a ship like this one?”

Keith leans up against one of the wooden tables scattered in the galley, the edge of it digging into his hip. “Nope.”

Shiro doesn’t seem dissuaded by Keith’s terse attitude. “Well, it’s definitely an experience. And the COL Voltron is a gorgeous ship.” He looks Keith over. Feels like the Galra eye is cutting right through him. “Do you know anything about ships? It’s a lot of work, being a cabin boy.”

Scowling, Keith crosses his arms to match Shiro’s stance. “I know ships,  _ Shiro _ , and I know how to work. Don’t treat me like a kid.”

Something about Shiro’s easygoing demeanour suddenly sharpens. He’s slightly harder, less gentle and welcoming, his smile shining less brightly. He’s  _ dangerous _ . “Are we going to have a problem here?” His tone is still calm, still collected. “If we’re going to be working together for several months, I want us to get along.”

“There’s no problem.” 

Shiro doesn’t quite soften, but the smile is back to being kind. Excessively kind. Suspiciously kind. Nobody’s that nice to someone who talks to them like that. “Good to know.” Shiro turns, starting up the melodic whistle again, grabbing a cleaver with his cyborg arm. Keith tenses, hand itching toward his dagger, but Shiro just grabs what looks like a hunk of meat and starts chopping it. 

Feels deliberate that his back is to Keith. Like he’s trying to play some weird game of trust. Keith pushes away from the table, heads over to a barrel of brilliantly coloured fruits. “So, you’re human, right?”

Shiro glances at him over his shoulder. “Yeah, you could say that. I mostly grew up with aliens, though, so I can’t really say I’m all that human.” He grins, almost apologetic. “Humanity probably won’t be something we have in common.”

Aliens. Like Galra? Keith grabs a piece of fruit, tossing it between his hands. “Have you ever been down to Earth?”

“Can’t say I have. I’ve always meant to, but I guess I’ve always been too busy with work.” 

Keith narrows his eyes at Shiro’s broad back, rolling the fruit from one hand to the other. “It’s nice.” It’s never been Keith’s favourite place, but he’s had good memories there. “I actually met someone there, someone who was looking for a cyborg buddy of his.” 

Shiro doesn’t react. He only hums, dicing whatever meat is on the counter. “Huh. What was his name? Maybe I know him, or I know his cyborg friend.” He smiles over his shoulder. “There are actually quite a few of us in this business. Ships can get pretty dangerous, it doesn’t take much to lose a limb or two.”

“His name was Ulaz.”

No reaction. Nothing, not even a twitch on Shiro’s face. “Ulaz? Sorry, the name isn’t familiar.”

“Hm.” Keith tosses the fruit again, expecting to catch it—and then it turns bright red, falling against his hand with a wet splat and dripping through his fingers like thick jelly. “What the hell?”

Shiro spins—and then his face breaks out in a wide grin, a laugh rumbling out of his chest. “Red! So that’s where you’ve been.” 

The red jelly in Keith’s hand slides against his skin, collecting in a pool in the centre of his palm. Then it coalesces, becoming more solid until it’s taken shape. It’s a tiny little lion, vivid red with glowing yellow eyes, and with a bubbling purr it rubs its face against Keith’s thumb.

Keith stares at it, narrowing his eyes at the strange little thing. “Red?”

“That’s her name. She’s a Morph, I found her a while back with the old crew I used to run with.” The floor creaks, metal whirs softly, and when Keith looks up Shiro is right there, standing in front of him, towering over Keith’s hunched form. He smiles at Keith. “I think she likes you.”

Red rubs the length of her body along Keith’s thumb, her red fur soft against his skin. “Hey, Red,” he says, voice low. She purrs, then dissolves into red jelly again, nothing but a pair of glowing yellow eyes marking her as more than a blob. She floats through the air, pressing against Shiro’s shoulder. Then she becomes the same little lion again, climbing onto his shoulder and curling up against his neck.

“She really likes being a lion,” Shiro says with a grin, running a finger down Red’s back. “I’ve never known why.” 

Shiro’s standing way too close. He’s trying to be amicable, familiar, and Keith’s not stupid enough to fall for it. He ducks away from Shiro, backing into the open space of the mess hall. “Right.” He shoves his hands in his pockets again. “Whatever.”

For a second Shiro stares at him, eyes narrowed. Then he smiles, bright and friendly, and leans back against the counter with an easy grace. “I think we’re about to launch,” he says, charming and pleasant. Keith’s gut twists in warning. “You should go watch it, Keith. You don’t want to miss your first big launch.” He turns back to the meat on the counter, twirling the cleaver expertly in his hand before starting to chop again. “Just make sure you come back. There’s a lot of work to do.”

Keith keeps an eye on Shiro until he’s up the stairs and back on deck.


	5. colder than the darkest sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Moondust - Jaymes Young](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGhes-VIC94&ab_channel=MrSuicideSheep).

The ship is bustling with activity. From above he can hear Matt calling out, “all hands to stations!” and then everyone is moving into place. Climbing up rigging, up the masts, sprinting to either end of the ship. “Loose all solar sails!”

The sails overhead unfurl and Keith can’t stop staring. They’re pure white, gleaming with solar energy already, sparkling as they absorb even more. Keith’s seen ships launch but never this close, never from the actual ship. The main mast lights up with solar energy, bright as the sun.

Keith almost stumbles as the ship starts to lift. He sprints to the edge, looks over as the people on the spaceport get smaller, more distant. Holy shit. He’s actually going.

Artificial gravity kicks in just as they float past the gravity of the spaceport. It’s different, weighing on Keith’s boots, almost identical to Earth gravity but not quite. 

“Coran!” Allura is standing at the ship’s helm with Matt, hands clasped behind her back and head held proudly high. “South by southwest, heading 2-1-0-0!”

“Aye, Captain! 2-1-0-0!” Coran spins the wheel and Keith feels the entire ship sway as it turns.

“Full speed, Mr. Holt!”

“Yes ma’am!” Matt leans over the balcony, hands curled around the railing. “You heard the Captain! Full speed! Brace yourselves!”

Keith scrambles to the rigging at the bow of the ship, climbing up onto it, hands tight around the rough rope. He tenses his muscles and the ship blasts into space, beyond the false atmosphere of the spaceport, a wave of force crashing against him with the sudden acceleration. He holds tighter, eyes wide, staring at dark space and bright stars around them.

The ship approaches brightly coloured shrouds, so fast it’s making Keith’s head spin. He feels it when they float into the shrouds, feels a soft energy wash over him. He’s—he’s  _ in space _ . Properly in space, not just the spaceport or the shuttle rides between it an Earth.

“Keith!” He turns his head to see Pidge sprinting over, grinning widely at him. “Keith, look! To your right!” He glances over—and floating alongside them through the clouds are massive, leathery-skinned creatures, like fat, multi-finned whales. “An entire pod of  _ Orcus galacticus _ !” The rigging shakes as Pidge climbs on next to Keith, smiling bright as one of the space whales passes so close to the ship Keith could reach out and touch it. “I never thought I’d actually see them! Aren’t they awesome?”

Keith grins at Pidge, at the sheer excitement in her eyes. “We made it, huh?”

Pidge smiles back. There are tears glistening in her eyes that Keith pretends not to see. “We did. We’re here! In space! And we’re actually going to—” She glances around, ducking closer to Keith. “We’re going to find the treasure. I remember those stories Thace used to tell, I was really little but he was so good at telling them.”

Something in Keith’s chest tightens. He ignores it. “Yeah.” He almost wants to say something more.

“Keith!” The sudden booming of Shiro’s voice almost startles him and Keith turns, the urge to share his feelings forgotten. Shiro is standing on deck, hands behind his back. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“That’s Mr. Shirogane?” Pidge murmurs, lips pursed as she stares at him. “I wasn’t expecting a human—or, cyborg, or whatever. I thought the crew was all alien.”

Keith’s not going to mention that the Champion Ulaz warned him about is a Galra cyborg. Knowing will just put her in more danger. “Guess not. I better head over.”

“Have fun!”

Keith climbs down from the rigging, loping across the ship to where Shiro is waiting. “What.”

Shiro only smiles. He brings his hands out from behind his back to reveal a mop and a bucket filled with water. “Here, cabin boy. Your first job. I’m assuming you know how to use these.” There’s a mocking bite to his words that doesn’t fit with the kind smile.

Snarling, Keith snatches the mop and bucket from Shiro’s grasp. “I’ve got it.”

Smiling, Shiro only puts his hands behind his back. In this light, Keith can see the scar stretched across the bridge of his nose, pale pink against his skin. “Good. Come see me down in the galley when you’re done.” He turns, starts towards the stairs leading down to the galley. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

* * *

The bright, colourful shrouds have long ago turned cloudy and grey, a thick fog surrounding the ship and soaking Keith down to the bone. He ignores the chill and keeps mopping the deck. Keith understands the value of cleaning, he knows it’s good work. But he doesn’t like being ordered to do anything. Especially not when the person doing the ordering is treating him like a little kid.

Keith scowls at the wooden deck, scrubbing the mop against a stubborn patch of grime. He doesn’t even have Pidge for company anymore. She hung around for a bit, but then Matt called her over to take a look at something and Keith’s been alone ever since.

Loud, muffled whispering carries through the air and Keith straightens up, turns his head to follow the noise. There’s a group of crewmen walking in a cluster across the deck, their voices low and crooked grins on their faces.

“Hey!” All three of them glance up at him, stopping in their tracks, the whispers ceasing immediately. Keith gestures the end of his mop at the deck right in front of them. “I just cleaned that part. Go around it.”

One of them—thickset and stocky, his features more reptilian than the Galra Keith’s seen—scowls at Keith with his hands on his hips. “You don’t tell us what to do.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Too bad, I’m telling you anyway.  _ Go around _ .”

He hears a hiss behind him. The air changes, charged with electricity like there’s about to be a rough storm. Keith turns and finds himself face to face with a Galra woman. She’s slender and long-faced, yellow eyes glaring from beneath a hood.

“Keep your comments to yourself, cabin boy,” she says, her voice rough and haggard. 

There’s something off about her, something making Keith’s skin prickle. He ignores it, squaring up against her. “You can’t tell me what to do either.” Only orders he has to follow are from Shiro or the Captain.

The Galra woman narrows her eyes, taking a step forward into Keith’s space. “I can make you do whatever I want.” The hairs on the back of Keith’s neck stand on end. “You have no business on this ship.”

Keith just snorts. “At least I’m more than just hired help.”

A flash of movement and suddenly Keith can barely breathe. The Galra woman’s hand is tight around his throat, bony fingers digging into the skin. She’s stronger than she looks. “Don’t start fights you can’t win, cabin boy,” she snarls, shoving Keith’s back against the ship’s mast. He writhes in her grasp, tries to claw away her hand, but the hold stays strong. “Stay out of my way.”

Keith bares his teeth at her. “Or what? You won’t be staying on this ship if you murder me—”

He chokes, the hand around his throat tightening as his feet lift off the ground. The woman raises her other arm—it’s crackling with dark energy, like cold lightning in her curled hand. “I can do so much worse than killing you,” she snarls, bringing the electricity close to Keith’s face. “I can destroy you.”

Silver and black closes around her wrist, tugging it away from Keith’s face. “Haggar.” Shiro glares at her, gripping her wrist so tight it looks like he might break her bones. The woman—Haggar—snarls, but says nothing. “Let him go before I break your arm.”

Haggar growls, but the hand around Keith’s throat disappears. He drops, gasping for air, rubbing the skin of his throat. 

Shiro releases her wrist. “Get back to work.” His voice is hard.

Yellow eyes narrow at Keith. “You should keep a better leash on this little . . .  _ thing _ .”

Rage flares in Keith’s chest. He shoots up, leaning into Haggar’s face. “Are you trying to start something?” Magic electricity or not he won’t let her disrespect him like that—

Shiro’s flesh hand lands on Keith’s chest, shoving him effortlessly back against the wooden mast. “ _ Both of you _ ,” Shiro says, looking between the two of them, jaw hard and tensed, “should be getting back to work. Do I make myself clear?” 

After a moment Haggar nods once, eyes flickering from Keith’s face to Shiro’s. “I understand.” Then she’s gone—in a flash of black, like she’s disappearing into smoke. What the hell?

Before Keith can say anything Shiro is rounding on him. “I gave you a job to do, Keith.” He shoves the mop back into Keith’s chest, hard enough that he knocks the air out of Keith’s lungs. “When I give you a job, I expect it done—”

“I was doing the fucking job!” Keith grips the mop, pushing ineffectually against Shiro’s broad chest. “I’ve been mopping the entire damn deck, it was  _ your _ crew that came to start shit—”

“ _ Keith _ .” Shiro’s not yelling, not even close, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes, a hardness in the set of his face that shuts Keith up. “I don’t care who started what. You’re my cabin boy, you’ll follow my orders. Are we clear?”

Keith swallows. Tightens his fingers around the wooden handle of the mop. Then he nods, eyes locked with Shiro’s yellow Galra eye the entire time. “We’re clear.”

“Good.” Shiro backs off, standing at his full height. “Then I want this deck scrubbed spotless. Don’t come to see me until it’s done.” He reaches into the pocket of his apron, pulling out a tiny blob of red jelly. “Red, keep an eye on him.”

Red chirps, floating to Keith’s shoulder, settling there and taking the form of the tiny little lion again.

“Spotless, Keith. Don’t disappoint me.” Then Shiro’s turning, marching back towards the galley, robot leg clicking and whirring with each step.

So Keith scrubs. He’s not a slacker, and he’s not a quitter. If Shiro’s going to give him jobs, make him grind his ass, then Keith’s going to do everything perfectly. He’ll  _ make _ Shiro treat him like a damn adult. 

Besides, Red isn’t bad company. She claws her way down Keith’s jacket and curls up in one of his pockets, purring so loud he can hear her even through the fabric. Keith’s never had a pet, never really wanted one, but having a tiny lion kneading the inside of his jacket pocket isn’t so bad.

He mops for hours, until the fog clears and leaves him alone on deck with nothing but dark space and distant, scattered stars around him. The solitude is nice. Keith hasn’t had much time to himself for a while now. Cleaning is one of those menial tasks he can lose himself in, mind drifting through space, hands kept busy so he doesn’t fidget.

When he’s finally done he takes a deep breath, leaning the mop against the side of the ship as he stares up at the stars above. 

Red climbs out of his pocket, floating through the air until she lands on the railing next to his hand. She purrs, butting her head against Keith’s wrist, and he grins.

Pidge would be able to name all the constellations. Hunk too, maybe. Keith’s never been able to remember that kind of thing. He stares up but all he sees are stars. He knows the stars on Earth, knows how to navigate by them, but that’s the extent of it. 

His dad used to teach him constellations. Used to tell him which ones his mom had visited, which ones she was still planning to explore. All Keith remembers is sitting in his dad’s lap and staring up at the sky.

“All done, huh?” Keith whirls around and Shiro’s there, leaning against the railing separating the rear deck from the rest of the ship. “You don’t quit, I’ll give you that.” He’s smiling, soft and approachable again.

Keith crosses his arms. “I told you I know how to work.”

Shiro laughs, light and carefree, tossing his head back. “Yeah, I remember. That’s not really what I was talking about.” He looks at Keith, the single Galra eye burning on Keith’s skin. “Haggar isn’t someone you want to get in a fight with, Keith. Has nobody ever taught you how to pick your battles?”

Shrugging, Keith turns back to the open sky. “Matron Ingrid tried.” She spent years trying to teach Keith that lesson. Never really stuck.

“Matron Ingrid?” Slowly, Shiro joins Keith at the railing overlooking space. He leans against it, elbows resting against it, one flesh and one metal. Mismatched eyes lock with Keith’s. “Are you an orphan?” His voice is too soft.

Keith nods once, staring at the sky again. “Yeah.” He coughs. Then he scowls at Shiro, hunching his shoulders. “What do you want? I’m done, you don’t need to be here.”

Whatever gentleness was in Shiro’s expression, it’s gone now. His face hardens, a sharp glare in his eyes as he pushes away from the railing. “Captain Allura put you under my command for this trip.” He crosses his arms, looking Keith up and down. “And since you’re obviously looking for a fight, someone is going to need to keep you busy. I won’t be giving you time to do anything but work and sleep—”

“What?” Keith shoves away from the railing, leaning up into Shiro’s face with a snarl. “I’m not your work horse, you can’t just order me around.”

But Shiro only smiles, a glint of something dangerous in his Galra eye. “Actually, Keith, I can. And I will, because there are more than a few lessons you need to learn and I won’t let you rest until you’ve learned them.”


	6. our hopes and expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Starlight - Muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pgum6OT_VH8&ab_channel=Muse).

Shiro makes good on his promise. The very next morning he has Keith up bright and early to get started on making breakfast. The work doesn’t end—it’s an endless list of things that need doing. Tedious work, hard work, work that occupies Keith’s brain and his hands. He’d almost appreciate the work if it weren’t for the bite to Shiro’s instructions, the mocking glint in his eye that makes Keith want to rise up on his toes and snarl.

But he doesn’t. He swabs the deck, muscles aching pleasantly from constant manual labour. He repairs tiny tears in the gleaming solar sails, fingers nimble as he threads familiar paths with thick thread through the shining fabric. He ignores the hard stares and jeers of the crew as he peels potatoes for dinner, hands curled tight around the knife so he doesn’t throw it in someone’s face.

Matt’s been keeping Pidge and Hunk busy. One week passes quickly, then another, and Keith hasn’t spoken to either of them more than a handful of times. He sees them in passing, introduces them to Red—Hunk loves her, adores her strange little impressions—but their schedules never seem to match up. Almost feels like Captain Allura is doing it on purpose.

Keith’s opinion of her hasn’t changed much. She doesn’t talk to him, seems to avoid it if she can, only ever speaking to Shiro in clipped tones whenever she has to venture down into the brig. Her attitude is cold, off-putting. It’s almost familiar to Keith.

A few days into their third week Keith almost feels like he’s got a second to relax. He’s made himself a little space towards the bow of the ship, a cluster of empty barrels where he can sit cross-legged and stare at the vast space before them. Red curls up on his shoulder, tiny lion head pressed against his neck, tail twitching as she dreams. 

The whir and click of Shiro’s metal leg has Keith’s shoulders tensing before Shiro even speaks. “There’s no time to relax,” Shiro says. Keith turns to see Shiro glaring at him, hands on his narrow hips. “The hull is a mess, Keith.”

Keith scowls at him. “The hull? What do you want  _ me  _ to do?”

Which is how Keith finds himself balanced precariously on a single plank of wood suspended at the hull, scraping flat black barnacles off the hull of the ship. His shoulders shake from the cold, fingers already going numb around the frigid metal scraper.

“You need to press harder, Keith. It isn’t like flipping pancakes.”

Keith growls, shoving the flat end of the scraper beneath one of the barnacles. They’re covering almost the entire hull, a mass of shining black that just barely reflects the colours of the nebulae around them. “I’m  _ trying _ .”

“Obviously not hard enough.”

Rage bubbles in Keith’s chest and he spins, pointing the scraper at Shiro’s smug face. “Then  _ you _ do it! Your arm could be doing this ten times faster, but instead you’re sitting there on your ass.”

Shiro just raises an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed. “I’m here because you need supervision. I don’t trust you to do this on your own.” He crosses his arms, metal fingers tapping against his bicep. “Get back to work,  _ cabin boy _ . That’s an order.”

Following orders isn’t Keith’s strong point. He grips the scraper tighter, ignoring the frigid numbness of his fingers. “Just because Allura—”

“ _ Captain _ Allura.”

“ _ Whatever _ . You can’t order me around like this. I’m not your slave.”

Shiro sneers. “Actually, I  _ can _ order you around. The Captain very explicitly said you were working for me for the duration of the voyage.” He leans back against one of the thick ropes holding up their slab of wood. “And that work consists of cleaning the barnacles off the hull. So get back to it.”

A scream rises in Keith’s throat but he swallows it down, turning around so Shiro can’t see the way he bares his teeth. Can’t give him that satisfaction. Shiro seems to have it out for Keith, loves to get under his skin. 

If Shiro wasn’t constantly watching over his shoulder, even cleaning the barnacles off wouldn’t be too bad. Keith used to watch his dad do it with ships that docked, would sit on a barrel or a crate and laugh whenever his dad pretended to be defeated by one of the nasty little things. His dad always promised to let him do it someday. “When you’re a little bit older,” he’d say, ruffling Keith’s hair, pinching his arms. “You still need a little bit more muscle, kiddo.” 

Well, Keith’s got that muscle now. Seems strange, wishing his dad was still around so he could watch Keith scrape barnacles off some ship. Not exactly Keith’s proudest moment. There’s been a shortage of those lately.

“ _ Keith _ .” Shiro’s voice, hard and commanding, snaps Keith out of it. He’d just stopped, lost in thought. “Back to work.”

Keith doesn’t turn, doesn’t even bother with whatever derisive expression must be on Shiro’s face. “Yes, sir,” he spits out, digging the scraper beneath one of the barnacles. No more distractions. If there’s one thing Keith can do it’s work, and he won’t let wayward memories ruin that for him.

* * *

Shiro’s a good cook. Keith’s not sure why he thought otherwise—Shiro’s job on this ship is to be the cook, after all—but somehow it keeps surprising him. Maybe he doesn’t expect a dangerous Galra cyborg who likes to run Keith’s ass into the ground to be so adept with the limited rations they have on a ship. Nothing like Hunk, obviously, but he knows more than Keith’s simple expertise on what will give him enough nutrients to survive.

Cooking with Shiro is weird. Keith used to cook with his dad sometimes, and then Matron Ingrid or the other older kids at the orphanage. That was more comfortable. Easy silence, instead of the forced quiet between him and Shiro.

Still, they cook the crew every meal. Shiro tells Keith what to do, gives him jobs and does his own thing on the other end of the circular little kitchen. 

It’s not the worst part of Keith’s day. Shiro doesn’t breathe down his neck when he’s cooking, leaves him alone to get the job done. Maybe Shiro figures even Keith can’t screw up peeling potatoes.

Sometimes Keith even watches Shiro cook. Watches the cyborg arm. It’s almost scary, chopping faster than any human hand could, breaking bones easily to fit them into the stew pot. The thing is an incredible piece of machinery. It’s not Keith’s area of expertise, more Hunk or Pidge’s thing, but pretty fascinating.

“The hand isn’t going to hurt you, y’know.”

“What?”

Shiro wiggles the fingers of the cyborg hand, the mechanics whirring softly. “My hand. You keep staring at it like you expect it to attack you.” He huffs a little laugh, almost mocking in a way that riles Keith up. “I promise, it’s not dangerous.”

Keith swallows down his immediate instinct to get defensive. “It’s not that.” He abandons his knife and the weird velvety vegetable he’d been chopping, leaning up against the counter with his arms crossed. “It’s fast.”

“It definitely has its uses.” Shiro lifts the hand in front of his face, turning it. Then he grins, Galra eye shining bright. “It can do some pretty cool things, actually. Toss me that thing.” He points at the weird vegetable on Keith’s side of the counter, catching it easily in his human hand when Keith complies.

The fingers of the cyborg hand twitch. Then the entire hand lights up, glowing bright purple—Galra purple, the purple of the map. 

Keith almost jumps, hand jerking toward the dagger on his belt. “What the hell is that?”

Shiro grins. “A little trick I picked up. Watch this.” He brings the vegetable up, holding it in front of him, then slices the glowing hand through it as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Before Keith can react Shiro tosses the slice across the kitchen. Keith catches it instinctively. It’s toasted, like it’s been held over a fire. Keith glances between it and Shiro, eyes narrowed.

“Go ahead,” Shiro says, laughter in his voice. “It’s safe, I promise. Might taste a little funny, but it won’t poison you.”

“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows, leveling Keith with a stare. “Keith.”

Nothing to lose. Keith pops the slice of the vegetable in his mouth. It crunches when he bites it, like it’s been roasted in an oven, warm and slightly bitter with a slight aftertaste that makes Keith’s tongue buzz. “Huh.”

“Not bad, huh?” Shiro tosses the vegetable back over, turning back to his own meal preparations. “Now back to work.”

The weird buzzing lingers on Keith’s tongue until they’re finished making lunch and the crew is lining up impatiently outside the kitchen.

Keith and Shiro serve them all. Haggar gives Keith a dirty look when he ladles soup into a bowl for her, but she doesn’t say anything. She hasn’t started anything since the first time a couple weeks ago, but Keith’s been keeping an eye on her. Whatever that weird dark energy was, it made his head hurt for hours afterwards.

When everyone is eating Keith grabs his own bowl, leaving the galley and heading up to the deck. He’s about to head off to his cluster of barrels, perch there and eat so he can stare at the stars.

“Keith!” He turns to see Hunk grinning at him, emerging from the galley with two bowls of soup in his hands. “Come eat with us, man! We’ve missed you!”

It has been a while. Usually Shiro keeps Keith after they’re done, makes him help with cleanup, but apparently this time Shiro was feeling charitable enough to let Keith take his lunch at a normal time. So Keith shrugs and nods, falling into step next to Hunk as they head up to the guest stateroom where Hunk and Pidge have been staying.

It’s a nice room. There’s a dining table made of white wood and a desk for Pidge, an ornate door in the corner leading to the sleeping quarters. Pidge is already sitting at the dining table when Keith and Hunk come in.

She grins when she sees Keith. “Hey, Keith.” Hunk gives her one of the bowls and she immediately digs in, scooping almost half of it into her mouth in one go. “So, how’s working for Mr. Shirogane?”

“I’m always surprised by how good his food is,” Hunk says absent-mindedly, stirring the soup and gazing at it like he’s trying to understand the deep secrets of the universe. “It could use more spices, definitely, but it’s still pretty tasty.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Anyway. Keith?”

Keith settles into place at the dining table. “Shiro’s . . . difficult.” He shrugs, eats a spoonful of the soup. Good, as usual. The bitterness of the strange velvet vegetable somehow makes it taste better. “He keeps me working. I think he likes tiring me out.”

A grin lights up Pidge’s eyes. “You  _ do _ get less angry when you’re tired. More just generally irritable.”

“Thanks, Pidge.”

“No problem, Keith.”

Before Keith can snap back at her there’s a knock on the door. Just as Keith’s glancing over the door swings wide open, revealing a grinning Matt striding through the open door like he owns the place. “Surprise lunch date!”

Allura follows in behind him. Her ocean-blue eyes lock with Keith’s and for a second they just stare at each other, some bizarre tension building between them. Then Allura turns her head, marching into the room behind Matt and settling herself delicately into the seat at the head of the dining table.

“Ms. Holt, Mr. Garett.” She smiles at them in turn, a demure smile that seems like more of a mask than her usual serious expression. Her eyes flicker to Keith, narrowing just a fraction, and then she nods. “Mr. Kogane.”

“Captain Allura.” The less they say to each other, the better. Obviously they don’t like each other, and Keith has no interest in starting a debate. It’s not his place or his interest to change Allura’s mind when she’s so set in her ways. 

Matt breaks right through the tension, bursting into conversation with Pidge and Hunk about the ship. He invites Keith to join the conversation and Keith does; he’s not a big talker but he knows ships, he knows engines, and he can contribute to this. 

It’s nice, finally getting the chance to have a real conversation with Hunk and Pidge. They’ve had nothing but short, rushed conversations over the past month, chance encounters between their busy schedules. But now, they can actually talk, chatting about the upkeep of the ship, the capabilities of the engine. Matt chimes in with a few stories of his missions with the Altean Navy.

It’s like they’re all young again, sharing blankets at sleepovers in the Holt observatory. The familiarity is strangely unsettling.

“Oh!” Halfway through an explanation of some complicated algorithm involving star patterns, Pidge snaps her fingers and turns to her brother. “Matt! Have you heard from Dad lately? I haven’t gotten a message in months.”

Matt nods. “We ran into each other at a refuelling station on my last trip out. He’s doing well, working on some terraforming projects for those planets in the Tarric System.” He turns to Allura with a wry grin. “Too bad we weren’t working together yet, you would’ve loved him.”

“Wait,” Hunk says, pointing between Matt and Allura with his spoon. “You two weren’t working together yet? The way you guys talk, it sounds like you’ve been friends forever.”

Allura’s smile is gentle, serene—something about it doesn’t seem right. “We have known each other a while,” she says, putting her hand on Matt’s shoulder. “He’s been somewhat of an older brother to me. But I only recently graduated from the Altean Navy. This is the first time we’ve truly worked together.”

Older brother. Matt’s only twenty-three, and Allura is younger than him. Keith didn’t expect that. She holds herself like she’s older, like her authority and command comes from years of experience. She doesn’t seem like she’d be at most only a few years older than Keith.

“‘Older brother’, huh?” Pidge narrows her eyes at Matt across the table, pushing up her glasses with her bony middle finger. “Are you trying to replace me?”

“Nobody could ever replace you, Katie.”

“Damn straight.”

“Language, Katie.”

Allura giggles, the sound melodic. “Ms. Holt, I promise I am not trying to steal your brother. He’s simply been an . . . unexpected source of family over the years. Of course I’ll always have Coran, but Matt has taken me in as family."

“The Holts tend to do that,” Keith says. He was just a kid when he met Matt and Pidge for the first time, playing in a park together. The orphanage was on an outing and Pidge was barely out of being a toddler, five years old to Keith’s eight, but she invited Keith to share her spaceship toys. He grins at Pidge and she smiles back. “You actually used to share when we were kids.”

Her grin immediately becomes a pout. “I share!”

Matt snorts. “Yeah, right.”

The Holts both puff up their chests, ready to start bickering—but Allura’s eyes are on Keith, sharp and piercing. “How long have you known the Holts?”

Keith shrugs, ignoring the instinct to bristle under Allura’s scrutiny. “About ten years, now. They’ve been family for me too.” She’s still staring, still waiting for him to speak. Keith’s never liked being put on the spot. “I didn’t have much of that, and they helped.” And he can’t stop himself from continuing. “Thace did too.”

Something sparks in Allura’s eyes. “That’s a Galra name.” Her voice is dripping with contempt, igniting a fierce rage in Keith’s chest.

But he breathes deep, grips his spoon so tight he can feel the grooves of the handle digging into his palm. “He was the one who died to keep the map away from the Champion. He was my family too.”

The look on Allura’s face, wide eyes and mouth fallen open, almost looks like Keith’s said something offensive. “But he was Galra!”

Keith grits his teeth. “That didn’t make him any less family.”

For a moment, Allura looks like she may start yelling at him. Then something in her expression changes. She looks softer, younger, like her hardened edges have fallen away. “I . . . see,” she says, face settling into something Keith doesn’t understand. “I apologize for my outburst, everyone.” She smiles at the rest of them, standing with the grace of royalty. Then her gaze lands on Keith, and though she doesn’t smile she gives him a nod. Something solidifies between them. “Mr. Kogane.”

Then she’s off, breezing out the door with a cloud of white hair billowing out behind her.


	7. i keep a close watch on this heart of mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [I Walk The Line - Halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8qjl4lysi_s&ab_channel=HalseyVEVO).

“You know a lot about ships for someone who’s never been on one.”

Keith doesn’t even look up from where he’s reworking the rigging, just tugs on a knot to tighten it. “Never said I haven’t been on a ship.” He tests the knot; it doesn’t loosen, doesn’t even budge. Just like his dad taught him. “I haven’t travelled on ships before. I’ve been on plenty.”

Shiro hums, working on his own section of the rigging. “Is that right?”

“I worked at a mechanic’s back on Earth.” Keith glances up, spares a second to see if Shiro’s expression changes at all. Nothing. Either he’s got the best poker face ever, or there’s another Galra cyborg roaming around out there. “That’s where I learned a lot of it.”

Mismatched eyes settle on Keith, Shiro’s gaze considering. “You don’t learn this from a mechanic,” he says, tugging on one of Keith’s knots. “I doubt many ships this size even make it down to Earth.”

“Nah, they shuttle.”

He can feel Shiro’s eyes on him. It makes him more conscious of—something. Something he can’t quite name, something that makes him a little nervous. Shiro’s got one of those piercing gazes Keith’s heard about.

A second passes and Keith huffs, fingers working quicker over another knot. “I grew up on the spaceport. You learn a lot about ships just being around there.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “No orphanages on the spaceport.”

“I wasn’t an orphan then.” The words spill out before Keith can stop them and he bites his tongue, staring hard at the fraying rope and his own fingerless leather gloves. Keith doesn’t  _ talk _ about that shit, not with strangers. Not with Shiro. Not with the Galra cyborg. 

For a second it’s quiet, just the gentle hum of the solar sails and the soft whirring of the solar engine breaking the silence of the dark, starry sky. Then Shiro shifts, leaning against the railing of the crow’s nest as he looks at Keith. “Your mom or your dad?” His voice is gentle, soft, grating against Keith’s nerves.

Keith hunches his shoulders. “What do you mean?”

The smile on Shiro’s face is pleasant. Pleasant and gentle, like he’s trying not to scare Keith off. Trying to placate him. “Who did you lose?” He glances pointedly at Keith’s hands, still tangled up around the knot. “Who taught you all of this? Skill like that comes from experience.”

In less than an instant, Shiro’s seen right through the walls Keith puts up. It makes him feel exposed, naked, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t been in a while. It’s . . . uncomfortable. 

But . . . he wants to say it. “It was my dad,” he says, voice low, barely carrying through the silent night. “He worked on ships. All sorts of different jobs.” Odd jobs, his dad used to call them. Keith’d always thought that name was funny. “He died when I was seven, and I got shuttled down to Earth.” It seems backwards. A kid loses the only family they have, and they take away everything they’ve ever known and shove them somewhere unfamiliar and scary.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. He sounds genuine. Keith can’t help but glance up at him and the warmth in his eyes, the  _ compassion _ —it almost makes him stagger back, makes his fingers twitch and slip in the knots. “I guess your mother wasn’t around, huh.”

Keith shakes his head. “Never knew her.” That’s a safer topic. His mom is a collection of constellations, a story whose details are starting to slip away. She never really existed, not for Keith. “Apparently she was a traveller, or something.”

Shiro smiles. “I don’t remember either of my parents.”

“Raised by aliens, right?”

A huff of a laugh startles itself out of Shiro’s chest, like he’s surprised Keith remembered. “Yeah. You could say that.” He glances out at the starry sky surrounding them, the sharp angles of his face illuminated by starlight and a nearby nebula. “I . . . lost my parents, when I was young. A lot has happened since then, and now . . .” He turns back to Keith, shrugging. “I don’t even remember their names.”

Keith used to wish he knew his mother’s name. Back when he was just a little kid, waiting for someone to come down from the stars and scoop him up, take him across trails of stardust. Then he grew up, and his mom stopped being a hero.

“So, you were a spaceport kid, huh?” There’s a soft smile in Shiro’s voice when he says it and Keith looks up, distracted from his own thoughts. “Growing up surrounded by ships. That must’ve been pretty amazing.”

Keith shrugs, reworking the knot in his lap. “It was pretty exciting,” he says, and he can’t help the smile that slips across his face. “Ships from all over. Dad used to show me all the engines, tell me the differences between each one.” Keith still remembers which models are particularly favoured by cruise class vessels, which ones are a sure mark of pirates. “Lots of people, too.”

“Lots of aliens?”

When Keith glances at Shiro he’s just watching him, hands working slow over the rope stretched across his knee. His gaze is intent, interested—intimidating.

Keith’s eyes flash back to his own hands. They’re callused, rubbed raw from working with rope. “All kinds. Sol’s got pretty heavy alien traffic.” His dad always treated aliens with the same respect as humans. Dad knew a lot of alien languages—said he’d picked them up, spending so many years surrounded by such a diverse set of people. “There were a few crews Dad worked for regularly, pretty much all of them were aliens.”

Shiro hums thoughtfully. “Your father sounds like he was a good man, Keith.”

“He was.” The words are quiet, small. Keith doesn’t realize he’s said them until they’re out of his mouth. Immediately he wants them back—they aren’t words for Shiro, this isn’t something he wants to share.

But he can’t take back what he said just by sitting there and staring at his lap. He can’t make it go away.

“He always did right by me,” he says, and then the words just keep coming. “We didn’t have much—we just lived in one of those single bedrooms near the docking bays—but he took care of me. Taught me a lot.” Taught him how to survive. Even after death, Dad was teaching Keith how to take care of himself, how to depend on himself.

“You really love him.”

Keith shrugs. “What kid doesn’t?” The atmosphere is too heavy. Too  _ real _ . And Shiro’s making it that way, Shiro’s low voice and gentle eyes are making everything between them soft and warm and hazy. “Things were good.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Shiro makes a noise like he’s clearing his throat, and when Keith looks up at him the light shining in Shiro’s eyes catches him off guard. “Are things good for you now?”

Too much. It’s too much. Keith blinks, tears his gaze away from Shiro’s, an uncomfortable weight settling deep in his gut. “I’m here, aren’t I?” He ties the next knot a little too roughly, snarls at the scratch of fraying rope against his skin. “What about you?”

“Me?” Shiro seems completely taken aback by the question. His eyes are wide, brows shot up in surprise. “What about me?”

“What  _ do _ you remember about your childhood?” There’s a bite to Keith’s words, a sharpness caught behind his teeth.

“Huh.” Shiro blinks at him, and furrows his brow, and completely abandons the rigging. His eyes sweep across the dark, star-speckled sky above them, light reflecting in his human eye. “I don’t know if anyone’s asked me that question before.”

Shiro’s teasing him. He has to be. Of course someone’s asked him about his childhood, that’s what  _ everyone _ asks. People are intrusive and invasive and push until they get answers, and then they don’t know what to do with them once they have them. They’ll say “I’m sorry” or “what a tragedy” because they don’t have anything of actual substance to say. 

“I think I was a colony kid,” Shiro says eventually, still staring up into the darkness above. Starlight throws his jawline into sharp relief and Keith swallows, fingers fumbling over the rigging, tying themselves into knots. “On a moon somewhere. It was . . . cold.”

“Cold?”

Shiro huffs out a laugh. “I remember whining about the cold.”

“Can’t really imagine you whining.”

“I  _ was _ just a little kid, Keith.” Shiro eyes him, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Little kids whine. I might have even cried.”

How old was Shiro, when he lost his parents? What happened to them? Was there an accident, like with Keith, and then Shiro grew up with no answers and no closure?

He wants answers. He wants them almost desperately, the question stumbling out of his mouth before he can stop. “What happened?”

Keith doesn’t need to be specific. It’s pretty obvious what he’s asking. Shiro’s jaw twitches, something flashing across his Galra eye. “I . . . don’t really remember.” His voice is guarded, steady. “I must be missing time. I only remember being with my new family. And then everything between then and now is just . . .” A laugh shakes out of him. “A mess, if I’m being honest. Like I said, a lot has happened.”

“Okay.” There’s not really anything else to say. Keith still wants answers, he still wants to figure out what’s going on under the surface—but he hates people digging into him like he’s a puzzle to solve. So he’s not gonna do it to Shiro. “Sounds complicated.”

Shiro chuckles. “That’s definitely a word for it.” He shakes his head. “Don’t let me hog the spotlight. What about you, what have you been doing in the . . . however many years you’ve been on Earth?”

“Eleven.”

A moment passes. “You’re only eighteen?”

“Yeah?” Keith narrows his eyes. Shiro’s got a weird expression on his face, tense and unreadable. “So? Is that a problem?” Too many people have been shitty to Keith about his age. Treating him like a kid just because he only turned eighteen a few months ago. Doesn’t make him any less of an adult.

But Shiro just laughs, a little desperate, and drags a hand over his face. “No, no,” he says, his flesh hand still resting over his eyes. “It’s not that.” The hand drops and he grins at Keith, almost sheepish. “I just didn’t expect you to be so young.” 

Keith bristles, about to bite back. “Shiro—”

“You just seem older,” Shiro says with a laugh, hands up in mock surrender. “But I guess you had to grow up pretty fast, huh?”

Keith shrugs. “I guess.” Then he frowns, because if Shiro’s calling him young—if Shiro was surprised by his age—how old is he? “Wait. How old are you?”

Shiro pauses. Stares at him, an indiscernible expression on his face. An uneasy shiver runs up Keith’s spine from the intensity of it. Eventually Shiro’s eyes shutter away. “Twenty-eight.”

That’s . . . more than Keith expected. And it makes him wonder. Because Shiro was only young when he lost his parents, and according to him everything since then has been a mess. What kind of mess? 

How young was he, when he lost his limbs?

Keith doesn’t ask that. Instead he tugs on a length of rope and stares at sharp angle of Shiro’s jawline so he can avoid his eyes. “How long have you been doing this?” 

Shiro laughs. “Oh, y’know. My whole life, give or take a few years.” It’s not an answer. It’s not meant to be an answer.

He’s got walls up too, Keith realizes. Harder to detect, sure, built up better than the vicious defenses Keith has, but they’re there. Keith wants to break them down.

He shakes away that thought before it can take hold. No way he can break Shiro’s walls down without breaking his own. And there’s no reason to do it, no reason he would ever want to. The more walls between them the better.

“I think the rigging’s done,” Keith says, pulling the last knot tight. Suddenly this situation is suffocating, Shiro’s presence is making his head hurt. “Unless you have anything else . . . ?”

Shiro laughs. “Go, Keith,” he says, mouth stretched into a wry grin. “Get some rest. There’ll be plenty to do tomorrow.”

Keith scales down the rigging so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

He doesn’t look back up, doesn’t check to see if Shiro’s climbing down and heading off to sleep. He heads straight for the bow of the ship, passing by the few crew members still up at this hour. They sneer at him as he walks past, but Keith ignores them.

Instead he hops up onto the bowsprit, boots balancing on the narrow surface. The soft buzz of space travel is more obvious up here, vibrating against Keith’s skin as he walks the bowsprit like a plank, out away from the ship until all that stands between him and open space is a narrow rod of wood.

It feels quieter out here. Like Keith’s properly in space, no sound, nothing around him but miles of emptiness. He straddles the bowsprit, legs dangling into empty space below, hands curled tight around the wood. Being so alone, so surrounded by nothing; it’s too easy to let his mind run.

This trip is . . . different. Not what Keith was expecting. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but Shiro, Allura, the crew—none of them factored into it. It hasn’t been too long, a month and a half, maybe a little more, but already Keith feels like he’s been on this ship for months. Feels like he’s known Shiro for months. They’ve been spending so much time together, doing so much, working with each other nonstop. There’s no time for Keith to get accustomed, no time for him to acclimatize.

Shiro’s dangerous. Keith knows that. He’s a cyborg with a Galra eye who just happens to be on a ship heading for Zarkon’s Fortune. He’s at least twice Keith’s size, all muscle and metal. He keeps digging under Keith’s skin and it’s too easy, too inviting to let him.

Keith needs better walls. He can’t let his guard down, not around Shiro. Not at all.


	8. i will be your sword and shield and you will be mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Battlefield - SVRCINA](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GZrddJPGp1I&ab_channel=SVRCINA).

A few of the COL Voltron’s Teladuv plates are getting worn down. Shiro seems to think it’s natural wear and tear, the scaultrite plates getting faded and cracked after spending so much time absorbing solar energy, but Keith knows ships. He knows how long a Teladuv can last, knows the way they tend to break down.

Something about it doesn’t seem right. Keith doesn’t tell Pidge or Hunk, he doesn’t want them investigating and getting themselves in trouble, and he sure as hell can’t talk to Allura about it. So one evening when they’re marooned in space, unable to move without a proper Teladuv, he ventures down to the Teladuv in search of Matt.

Matt’s there. Coran too, jumping animatedly between the plates, inspecting them, rattling off the damage. “This one appears cracked as well,” he says, twirling his moustache. “I can’t imagine why this one would be cracked, it isn’t along the same trajectory as the others!”

Matt nods, crossing his arms and looking over the entire structure. “It’s definitely weird.”

“Do you think someone is doing it on purpose?” Both Coran and Matt spin to look at Keith, eyes wide as he steps inside the structure of the Teladuv and away from its controls. “They don’t break that easy.”

Coran’s eyebrows lift, lips pursing beneath the moustache. “You know about Teladuvs, young man?”

Shrugging, Keith approaches one of the obviously warped plates. The sheer, glass-like surface of it has shifted slightly, reflecting the soft light of the console like shimmering oil. “Used to work on them with my dad.” He traces a finger down the scaultrite plate. The surface is wobbly. “They don’t warp like this. The grooves here are too fine.” Solar energy warps the entire thing, makes it curl in on itself over time; it doesn’t create ridges like waves.

“That’s what we were thinking,” Matt says, his voice low. “It’s suspicious.”

Coran taps his chin. “What we can’t figure out is what anyone would have to gain from it! This is only setting our journey back, and I’m sure everyone here wants to complete this expedition as swiftly as possible!”

That’s what Keith doesn’t get. Now they’ll have to coast to an outpost, and the nearest one is practically abandoned. 

He drags his finger down the plate again. Just touching it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, like a tiny electric current is running just beneath his skin. “What did this?” It wasn’t regular fire or heat, nothing aside from solar energy is powerful enough for that. 

Keith’s mind flashes to Shiro’s hand, glowing bright purple, fingers dragging over the plate and pressing down just enough to warp the metal—but no. Shiro’s got no reason to want to delay the trip, and whatever Galra technology powers his hand isn’t enough for this. It has to be someone else. Keith’s just not sure who.

Matt sighs, dragging a hand back through his messy brown hair. “I’ll have to look into this. Maybe if I can figure out who had access to this room alone, we’ll be able to narrow it down.”

Only a few people spend much time down here. Haggar and Sendak, two members of the crew. Keith’s already had an eye on Haggar, watched her and avoided her in case she wanted to start anything again. He hasn’t interacted much with Sendak aside from a few antagonistic comments on both sides. Neither of them are people he particularly trusts.

“Either way,” Coran says, popping up from a crouch and breezing past Keith, “we’ll need to set a course! This ship should be able to make it to the nearest outpost, isn’t that right old girl?” He pats the Teladuv console affectionately. “Keith! Won’t you come with me to chart the course?”

Keith blinks, staring at Coran’s cheerful face. “Uh.” Navigation isn’t really his thing. Pidge is the one who likes star maps.

Despite Keith’s obvious hesitation Coran only smiles, jovially gesturing for Keith to join him. “Come along! I’d like some help inputting the correct calculations!” 

Well, at least Coran doesn’t seem to hate Keith for being friendly with Galra. Keith follows him back up on deck, hands jammed into the pockets of his bright red jacket. They climb up a set of stairs together to the room just below the fore-deck. It’s a nice room, ornate without being gaudy, starlight streaming in through the windows at the far end. In the middle sits the navigation table. Coran marches confidently over to it, bringing up the interface as Keith stands awkwardly on the other side.

“You’re quite good with ships, aren’t you,” Coran says. The chipper brightness in his voice is gone, replaced by something much calmer, much more serious. Dark eyes stare at Keith across the navigation table, lit up by the soft blue glow of the holographic star map.

Keith shrugs. “Said I was, didn’t I?”

The look Coran gives him is surprisingly intuitive. “Yes, I remember that.” He hums, fingers sweeping expertly across the map of twinkling blue stars. “Keith . . .” He pulls away from the map, hands settling on the rim of the navigation table. “I feel I must apologize. Your treatment hasn’t been entirely fair.”

Keith just narrows his eyes. “You aren’t the one treating me badly.”

“I suppose that’s right.” Coran presses his lips together. “Keith, I know Captain Allura has a bit of a skewed perception of Galra.”

“More than skewed,” Keith says, scowling at the soft blue of the navigation table. 

Coran chuckles, a little sadly. “Yes. Well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that Alteans were quite affected by the Galran Empire.”

Vicious anger claws into Keith’s throat. He bares his teeth, growling low in his chest. “So were Galra. You have  _ no idea _ how many of them were hurt by it, how many wanted the Empire to end just as much as everyone else.” His fingers itch—he wants to grab his dagger, wants to throw it at something to let off even a fraction of the anger stirring in his chest.

“I know that,” Coran says, still infuriatingly calm. “Keith, all I’m saying is that Allura has her own reasons for being distrustful of Galra.” His eyes go soft and sad, and something tightens in Keith’s chest. “You two could find an understanding, I’m sure.”

“Maybe.” Allura doesn’t seem very interested in understanding anything about Keith, and he has no reason to push for it.

“Just something to think about.”

Keith leaves Coran to his navigation after that. The trip to the outpost will take several hours, and Keith may as well use the time to get some sleep.

As he’s leaving he crosses paths with Haggar. Her yellow eyes dig into his, bright and menacing from beneath the heavy hood she always wears. “What?” he snarls, bristling when her stare only carves deeper. “Do you want something?”

Haggar cocks her head to the side. The air crackles between them, like the atmosphere before a heavy storm. It’s the same feeling Keith had when touching the scaultrite plates. Electricity that shouldn’t be there. Something dark and powerful, an energy that isn’t supposed to exist. Then Haggar laughs, low and cracking, and the feeling disappears. “Mind your place, cabin boy.” 

Then she’s gone, leaving nothing behind but ribbons of black smoke that spark with the same energy before fading completely.

“Well, that was weird,” Keith mumbles to himself, curling his shoulders in to shield himself from the cold of the ship at night. He tucks his hands back in his pockets and heads down to the lower decks with the crew’s sleeping quarters.

His bed isn’t much. Just a simple cloth hammock suspended from the ceiling, swinging high and precarious above the hard ground. Keith climbs up into it with ease, kicking off his boots and leaving them beneath the still-empty hammock below his.

Keith curls up on his side, slipping his dagger out of his belt, hand tight around the tightly wrapped hilt as he cradles it against his chest. Then his eyes flutter shut, and sleep falls heavy over him.

It can’t be any more than five hours later when a shout from above deck wakes Keith up. His eyes flash open at the sudden sound, fingers twitching around the hilt of his dagger. Then the shout comes again—and it’s Matt, announcing that they’re approaching the outpost.

Keith slides easily out of bed, stuffing his feet into his boots and heading above deck. A bright nearby star sears his eyes and he blinks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, tucking his dagger back into his belt. 

Sure enough, at the bow of the ship is an old outpost. It’s a massive metal structure attached to a lone asteroid, basically nothing more than storage. Something about it seems creepy. Maybe it’s because there are metal tubes twisted around and within the asteroid like some kind of living creature, or maybe it’s just how lonely it seems. There’s nothing out here but a few tiny asteroids, too small to really count.

“It sure is quiet out here, huh?” Keith turns to see Shiro climbing the steps out of the galley, his shock of white hair a mess. Shiro has his own sleeping quarters just off the galley. Keith wishes he had that kind of privacy.

“It’s kind of eerie.”

Shiro huffs out a laugh, motioning for Keith to walk beside him as he heads towards the bow of the ship. “It is, isn’t it? These lonely outposts always feel like a last resort.” He grins, something sharp and strange in the glint of his teeth. “Like we’re about to die.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “Morbid.”

“You can’t argue that this is the perfect setup for a horror story.”

He’s not wrong. Keith and the Holts used to share scary stories and Matt’s almost always started with a lonely outpost or a lonely planet or a lonely ship stuck out in space. 

But Keith doesn’t say that. Instead he watches as they slowly drift closer to the outpost; leaning with his elbows on the railing. There’s a flattened part of the asteroid that must be a docking area, with various tunnels surrounding it that must lead to different storage areas or whatever engine room must be keeping this thing stable.

Something doesn’t feel quite right. The atmosphere is off, like there’s about to be a lightning storm—except they’re in space, surrounded by nothing but a pathetic excuse for an asteroid belt.

Beside him, Shiro’s metal hand taps an agitated rhythm on the railing of the ship.

The COL Voltron pulls into the docking area of the outpost, slowing to a stop. Under Allura’s command the crew tosses a ramp over the side, already heading down to the asteroid. Keith pushes away from the ship’s railing, starts towards the crew as they’re led by Matt until a hand closes around his arm.

“Not us,” Shiro says, his grip just tight enough that Keith would have to fight to get out of it. He grins, teasing in a way that makes Keith’s stomach squirm uncomfortably. “We’ve got some work to do here.” He glances over Keith’s shoulder. “Trust me, you aren’t missing much.”

There’s always work to do. Keith doesn’t bother fighting; he doesn’t actually care much about seeing the inside of some derelict outpost. He watches as Matt and the rest of the crew disappear inside the asteroid, then turns back to Shiro.

“So, what are we doing today?”

Shiro grins, opens his mouth to answer—and then there’s a crash and the ship rocks, slamming Keith against the railings, something heavy landing against him and knocking the air out of his lungs. Keith coughs, gasping hard, chest pounding. Shiro’s pressed against him, arms caging him against the railings, mismatched eyes wide as they stare at each other.

“What the fuck was that?” 

Shiro blinks hard. “I—I have no idea.” He pushes away from Keith, the heat of his body disappearing immediately. “Another asteroid?”

But there’s something shimmering into view. Another ship, smaller than theirs, designed narrower and sleeker for more speed. It’s right next to the COL Voltron, still translucent like it doesn’t quite exist yet. “Not an asteroid,” Keith says, staring at the ship over Shiro’s shoulder. “A ship. It’s got a cloaking device.”

Brows furrowing, Shiro starts turning. “A cloaking device? But nobody has those, nobody but—” His voice cuts abruptly when he sees the ship.

Tailbone aching, Keith pushes himself away from the railing and back onto his feet. The other ship is almost fully materialized, enough that Keith can see the ragged solar sails and rough markings on the hull. “They’re pirates.”

Allura springs up from where she’d been tossed to the deck just as Hunk and Pidge emerge from their living quarters. “Is everyone alright?” she calls, voice ringing clear over the deck.

“What the hell was that?”

“Oh no.” Hunk stops in his tracks, staring at the other ship—at the planks being thrown over, connecting the two decks. “Oh no, those are pirates! And we’re all alone!”

They are. As far as Keith can tell, the only people on the ship are on the deck right now, aside from Coran. Five people against an entire ship of pirates. All Keith has is a dagger.

“Everyone!” Allura commands attention, standing tall and proud. From the inside of her coat she pulls a short pole—then she twirls it and it extends, becoming a staff. “We must not let the ship be compromised! Defend it against these brigands with everything you have!”

At least Keith knows what to do in a fight. Got in plenty of those throughout his years at the orphanage.

He pulls his dagger from the sheath on his belt, twirling it in his hand. It’s a comfortable extension, a natural part of him.

“Be careful,” Shiro says next to him, his voice low and measured. Keith glances at him, sees the bright purple of his cyborg hand. Then he makes the mistake of looking up. Shiro is staring at him, his eyes deep and heavy with something that stabs like fear through Keith’s heart, makes him want to run away. “Pirates are crafty. Don’t let them get the upper hand, and always keep an eye on their feet. And don’t—” He stops, suddenly, his eyes looking past Keith to the pirate ship.

Keith glances over. Galra. All of them are Galra, dressed in dark colours and ragged clothing, eyes glowing bright against the darkness of space around them. Shit. Galra are strong, faster than humans, Keith forced Thace to spar against him enough times to know that.

“Shiro, I—” Keith turns to Shiro but Shiro is still, frozen like a statue. He’s gone pale, his eyes wide, staring blindly where the Galra are streaming from the ship. His hands are twitching, the cyborg hand still glowing, bright and vicious. He looks like he’s barely breathing, like he  _ can’t _ breathe. “Shiro? Shiro, are you okay?”

No response. It’s like Shiro can’t even hear him, like he can’t even  _ see _ Keith. Like he’s somewhere else completely.

Shit, shit, the pirates are  _ on board _ . “Shiro!” Keith grabs Shiro’s shoulders, shakes him—but Shiro doesn’t even react, doesn’t do  _ anything _ . “Shiro, you gotta move! You gotta do something!”

Wood creaks behind Keith. He whirls around, bringing up his dagger just in time to block the swing of a black sword. The force of the blow rings in his arm and the Galra on the other end of the sword grins, sharp canines glinting purple from the light of the sword’s glow. 

The Galra swings again, wild and feral. Easy to block, hard and painful to take against the dagger. Keith grits his teeth at another blow, blocking and sidestepping. 

An opening. Keith takes it, lunging forward and swiping out with his dagger. It catches the Galra across the arm, enough that his stance falters—enough for Keith to kick his legs out from under him and knock him out with a swift kick to the head.

He turns back to Shiro. Shiro is  _ shaking _ , eyes still unseeing, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. “Shiro, you have to snap out of it—”

Keith spins, striking against another pirate. She howls but he lands another hit, a punch to the throat and a kick to the gut that has her doubling over, another knee to the face to put her out of commission. 

Scattered across the ship Keith can see everyone else fighting; Allura twirling her staff like a fierce dance, Hunk using his sheer strength to subdue, Pidge scampering around with some device that looks almost like a gun in her hands. They’re dealing with it, dealing with the chaos, but there are so many pirates, way too many for all of them to deal with alone—

From the corner of his eye Keith sees glinting black metal heading straight for Shiro and he just—reacts. He lunges, flinging himself in the trajectory of the dagger. 

It embeds itself in his right shoulder, sharp and sudden and screaming with pain and Keith yells through his teeth, voice raw and rough. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he snarls, hand twitching towards the hilt of the dagger. “ _ Fuck _ ,  _ fuck _ .”

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice, distant and muted through the rush of blood in Keith’s ears. “Shit.”

Shiro’s  _ okay _ . Keith slumps against the nearby railing, fingers curling around the blood-splattered hilt of the dagger lodged in his right shoulder. He grits his teeth, tightens his grip—and pulls the dagger out of his skin in one clean tug. Pain explodes through Keith’s nerves but he ignores it, turns to the pirate who threw the dagger in the first place.

A second later and the man has the dagger sticking out of his chest. Problem solved.

“Keith?” Shiro’s suddenly in Keith’s face, blocking everything else out. A warm hand presses against Keith’s good shoulder, Shiro’s eyes boring into his. “Keith, you need to get somewhere safe.” There’s a tremor in his voice.

Keith shoves his left hand against Shiro’s hard chest. “Not gonna happen.”

“You’re  _ hurt _ —”

Fuck that. Keith ducks away from Shiro, staggers a bit before he regains his footing. Warm, wet blood trickles down his right arm but Keith ignores it, wipes the worst of the blood on his hands off on his pants. 

A Galra approaches him from the right and Keith doesn’t hesitate, just steps out of the way of her telegraphed swing and stabs his dagger straight through her chest. She gurgles, staring at him with wide yellow eyes, slumping to the deck when he pulls away.

Another Galra on his left, too fast, ducking away from Keith’s clumsy slash. Shit, this one’s faster, better—and then there’s a glowing purple hand around the Galra’s throat that tosses him across the deck and against the main mast.

Shiro.

He turns back to Keith, eyes bright and furious. “Keith, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Shiro hisses, wrestling Keith away from the thick of the fight. 

Keith shoves against him unsuccessfully. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you start thinking clearly!” Shiro shoves him hard against the railing, wood digging hard and painful into Keith’s spine. One hand hovers over Keith’s wound, the other hand’s metal fingers digging bruises into Keith’s hip. “Stay here, Keith.” Shiro leans in, presses into Keith’s space. “That’s an order. I’m not watching you run headfirst into danger just because you don’t know when to stop—”

“What about you?” Keith punches Shiro’s hard chest. Doesn’t seem like Shiro even feels it. “You went somewhere else, Shiro, you can’t say you’re fine now—”

“ _ Keith _ !” The tone of Shiro’s voice cuts right through Keith’s rising anger. Metal presses so hard into Keith’s hip he can’t help but squirm away from the pain. “Stay. Here. I’m not telling you again.”

A sudden, foreign feeling bursts in Keith’s chest, almost painful. He wants to  _ impress _ Shiro. Wants to prove himself. It’s different from wanting to show him up, to prove him wrong—Keith wants to prove to Shiro that he’s worth something. That he’s more than some brat with discipline issues.

“Yes, sir,” he says. “Fine. I’ll stay down.”

Shiro deflates with a single sigh, loosens his grip on Keith as he steps away. “Good.” Then he turns around, sprinting into the fight, and Keith feels the same tug in his chest he used to feel from the map.

Shiro in a fight is deadly. He’s fast, using the enhancements of his cyborg parts like a natural extension, hand glowing vivid purple as he swings it like the weapon it apparently is. This isn’t Keith’s self-taught fighting, this is  _ real _ , disciplined and deadly.

When the rest of the crew joins the fight it’s not even a challenge.

Haggar bursts onto the ship in a swathe of crackling black smoke, a scream tearing raw and inhuman from her throat. She flicks her hand and dark, impossible electricity explodes around her. Even from far away Keith feels it, shudders as the energy passes over his skin and sparks in his wound. At least now he knows what he’s dealing with from her.

Keith may not trust Shiro’s crew all that much, but they’re good at dealing with pirates. By the end of it all there’s nothing but dead and unconscious bodies scattered across the deck, all of them belonging to the pirate crew.

Only one of the pirates is still conscious. He’s covered in blood, hands clasped over the wound in his stomach. He doesn’t have long. Allura stands over him, white hair streaked with violet blood, the tip of her staff pressed against his chest to keep him on his back. “You will answer all of my questions, do you understand?” Her voice rings clear and hard over the deck.

The pirate only bares his teeth, sharp canines glinting. “Suck my dick,” he snarls, eyes glowing bright. “I ain’t telling you shit.”

“We will give you medical help if you answer my questions truthfully.”

The pirate answers, something crass and angry and dismissive. Keith isn’t listening. A crackle of energy has caught his attention, just enough to make the hair on his arms stand on end. He turns, following the source.

Another pirate crawls just out of view of the rest of the crew, half-hidden on the staircase up to the uppermost deck. Keith’s the only one who’s noticed him. Keith, and apparently Haggar. In a flash of smoke she’s there, standing over the man—and then she holds her hand over him, black lightning striking his back.

He doesn’t move anymore.

Keith whirls his head around just as Haggar looks up, turning back to Allura and her captive just in time to see him fall unconscious. He won’t be waking up again. And now they have no prisoners to question.

Whatever Haggar’s up to, Keith’s gonna have to keep a closer eye on her.

* * *

Hunk and Pidge haven’t left the med bay since Shiro dragged Keith in, supporting his weight with an arm looped around his waist. Coran’s been in and out making sure he’s okay, and Matt’s been by a couple times between getting the Teladuv back in working order. But Hunk and Pidge literally haven’t left Keith’s bedside.

Luckily Alteans have pretty advanced medical tech. What was once a huge gash is now mostly closed up, still stinging with every movement but barely bleeding anymore.

Keith twists his shoulder, ignoring the shooting pain with every flex of muscle. Coran said it should be mostly healed within a week, if he doesn’t strain it too much. Keith’s never been good at listening to medical advice, and he’s even worse at taking it easy.

“Keith, stop moving it!” Hunk narrows his eyes at Keith, his mouth set in a disapproving frown. “You’re going to make it worse!”

Keith shrugs despite the sharp pain. “S’fine.”

“It doesn’t look fine.” From her spot perched on another examination table, Pidge adjusts her glasses and stares dead-faced at Keith’s shoulder. “It looks like you got stabbed.” She raises an eyebrow. “Protecting Mr. Shirogane.”

Yeah. That part, the sheer instinctiveness of it, that’s what threw Keith off. He hasn’t really thought about it since the initial realization. “He froze up, needed my help.”

Hunk crosses his arms. “Yeah, but did your help have to include getting stabbed?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“That is  _ so _ not the point and you know it, Keith.”

Their concern is kinda nice, but a little too heavy for Keith right now. He needs to be doing something, working on something with his hands to stop the thoughts running through his head. “It’s what happened. The best solution isn’t always the most comfortable.”

Hunk looks like he’s about to argue when the door to the med bay swings open. Keith glances over, expecting Coran again, maybe Matt. Instead he sees a single glowing yellow eye and broad shoulders. Shiro. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, his voice soft in the sudden quiet of the room. “Can I talk to Keith alone?”

Hunk turns to Keith, indicating Shiro with a tilt of his head. “Keith?”

Keith nods. “Yeah.”

With one last smile, Hunk ducks out the door with a, “see you later, buddy.”

Pidge pats Keith’s knee one last time before she follows Hunk out. “Let us know if you need anything.”

The door swings shut behind them. Then it’s just Keith and Shiro, alone in the med bay. Silence settles heavy and awkward between them and Keith wants to get up and walk out. Shiro and him haven’t spoken since Shiro dragged him into the med bay and left him here.

“So,” Keith says, his voice gravelly and low. His eyes flicker to the floor. Shiro’s gaze is way too intense, and suddenly Keith feels like he’s done something wrong. “Uh.”

“Thank you, Keith.” It’s so sincere that Keith looks up, chest going tight and uncomfortable. Shiro is just staring at him. It itches under Keith’s skin, curling warm and heavy at the base of his spine. As unsettling as it is comforting. Shiro smiles a little, just a tiny, tired little grin. “You saved my life."

Keith just shrugs, biting back a wince at the pain. “Yeah.”

Shiro shakes his head. “Don’t diminish it, Keith. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead right now.” He huffs a laugh. “Or at least sporting another stab wound. As exciting as that would be, I don’t think I need anymore scars.” Moving slowly, like he’s afraid he might startle Keith, spook him into running away, Shiro comes over to Keith’s bedside and sits in the chair next to it. “Hey.” He offers the cyborg hand. “I mean it. Thank you.”

The purple glow of Shiro’s hand flashes in Keith’s mind. Memories of it tearing through bodies, impossibly strong and fast, bright with a sort of electricity that fried the bodies of everyone it touched. That hand saved Keith’s life too.

Keith takes the metal hand, shaking it despite the twinge of pain in his shoulder. It’s strangely warm, somehow soft around Keith’s smaller hand.

“I’ve got your back,” he says, and it feels like a confession.


	9. your shoulder blades, your eyes ablaze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Atlas - Shannon Saunders](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=URKSDWOPkQI&ab_channel=jeanslyrics).

“Ever chased a comet before?”

Keith glances up from the last of the dishes, still scrubbing a stubborn bit of grime from the base of the giant copper pot. Shiro is standing over him, arms crossed, leaning casually against the counter. Frowning, Keith taps the scrub brush on the inner surface of the pot. “Chased a comet?”

Carefree, genuine laughter fills the small kitchen as Shiro tips his head back. “Guess that answers that.” He grins at Keith, a teasing glint in his glowing Galra eye. “Finish up those dishes and head down to the docking bay.” Something a little bit dangerous flashes in his smile, and heat pools at the base of Keith’s spine. “I’ve got something to show you.” Then he turns, disappearing up the stairs of the galley.

Keith doesn’t even bother trying not to stare at his ass.

Over the past few weeks, the tension between him and Shiro has been . . . different. Sure, Shiro still gets under his skin, shoves jobs at Keith with that wry grin that makes Keith want to fight back. Especially after Keith’s shoulder healed up. But now Keith’s not angry. He still wants to push back against Shiro, stand toe-to-toe with him, prove some kind of point. Now it’s just a different kind of heat fueling the fire between them.

Keith finishes up with the dishes, stacking the pot with the rest of the pristine kitchenware. He wipes his soapy hands off on his pants. Then he glances in the reflection of a particularly wide metal plate, tucks a wayward strand of inky black hair back into place.

Dammit. Blood rushes to Keith’s cheeks and he spins, marching across the galley and up the stairs.

Dark sky surrounds the ship, stars twinkling in the distance. Faint clouds of blue and purple, more like spiderwebs than anything, reach across the sky around them. Nobody’s up at this hour, so Keith’s trip across the deck to the stairs down through the cargo hold is lonely. Better that nobody can see him so nervous.

When he reaches the docking bay at the base of the ship Shiro is already perched in one of the lifeboats, fiddling with the engine. Red sits curled on his shoulder as a tiny lion, her purr bubbly and loud enough that Keith can hear it even across the room.

Shiro looks up when Keith steps forward, a friendly grin on his face. “Hey, Keith.” He gestures for Keith to join him. “Take a seat.”

The hatch below them is already open. Below Keith is nothing but dark space and distant stars; all that separates him from certain death is a narrow plank of wood running lengthwise along one side of the docking bay.

He hops across easily, jumping nimbly into the lifeboat light enough that it barely wavers. “You said something about chasing comets?”

Shiro unwraps one of the knots holding the lifeboat hanging above the open hatch. “It’s something I used to do back when I ran with my old crew.” He smiles, eyes gone soft and distant like he’s remembering. “My captain was a bit of a hardass, so nobody really had much time for leisure.”

“Guess I know where you got it from.”

Shiro’s laugh fills the docking bay, loud and bright and comfortable. “I guess you’re right.” He watches as Keith unties the second knot. The lifeboat sways, drifts down, energy already humming in its engine. Sounds like Keith’s bike, honestly. “But this was back when I was still a teenager. During the night when I was supposed to be sleeping, I’d go chasing comets.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “Do you ever sleep?” Seems like Shiro’s always on, never taking even a second to rest.

“I’ll have plenty of time for sleeping when I’m dead.” His tone is easy when he says it, the same casual smile still on his face. Before Keith can reflect anymore on that Shiro joins him at the back of the lifeboat, sitting so close their knees touch. “So, I know you’ve never been in space before, so I’ll give you a bit of a crash course.”

“Hm.” The engine’s hum, buzzing with solar energy now that the sails have folded open, really sounds almost exactly like Keith’s bike. And the controls for the lifeboat are a pair of joysticks, almost like separate handles on a handlebar. “Don’t need it.” Then he’s curling his hands around the joysticks and twisting the throttle and the lifeboat shoots forward into space.

Keith’s stomach plummets, adrenaline immediately rushing through his system. The lifeboat’s faster than his bike, a smoother ride with better controls. No overheating metal here.

Shiro laughs, surprise and delight all wrapped into a sound that goes straight to Keith’s gut. “Alright, I guess not!”

A bright stream of ice glints in the distance, at the outer edge of the solar system they’re travelling through. “Chasing comets, huh?” Keith grins, feeling wild and dangerous, heart thudding in his chest. “Hold on tight.”

He shoots after the comet. It seems impossible but then he leans forward, drags the joysticks with him. Suddenly matching the comet’s speed is easy. Keith pulls up alongside the stream of bright blue ice trailing behind it and then ducks in completely.

Ice hits him right in the face, cold snow collecting on his jacket and in his long hair. It’s fucking freezing but Keith can’t even feel the cold, can’t feel anything but the energy rumbling beneath him, the power in his hands. It’s better than a freefall, more addictive than the challenge of making impossible jumps and twisting through deadly mazes.

“You’ll wanna hold onto something,” he says, then throws himself to the side and sends the lifeboat into a wild spin. Centrifugal force presses him down into the boat and Keith goes with it, leans forward until he’s bent almost in half.

Keith steadies out of the spin, twists and turns the lifeboat’s controls until he’s dipping in and out of the comet’s stream. It’s exhilarating, a roaring in his chest pounding along with his heartbeat in his ears. Shiro’s laughter rings in his head, loud and delighted and almost surprised, and Keith wants to do whatever he fucking can to keep hearing it.

He follows the comet until his fingers go numb from the cold, until the COL Voltron is barely more than a smudge of white and gold in the distance. With one final tug he twists the controls, pulling out of the comet’s stream with a long, hard laugh bursting from his chest like an explosion. It feels so _good_ to be doing this again, chasing that adrenaline high. 

When he glances over, Shiro’s grinning at him. Not his usual grin, half-mocking and half-sincere, making Keith feel good as much as it makes him want to rise to the challenge. This one is heavy with sincerity, small and indistinct and weirdly gentle. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you,” Shiro says, and his tone is bright like Keith’s just hung the moon and stars.

Keith ducks under the compliment. “I told you, I know engines.” Avoiding Shiro’s smile, he looks back to find the COL Voltron, so far away now. Probably should be heading back. “Used to have a bike with almost this exact engine. It was an older model, and half the parts came from something else, but she worked just fine.”

“How’d you know what kind of engine it was?”

“I could hear it.”

Shiro grins at him, a little more familiar. “You really are something else, Keith.”

They don’t talk again until they’ve pulled the lifeboat up into the docking bay, secured it with the ropes hanging from the ceiling. Keith’s prepared to climb out and head off to sleep. But Shiro just settles on the opposite end of the boat, leaning comfortable and casual against the side of the boat.

Red climbs down from his shoulder, stalking across the boat like she’s a real cat. Keith sits and she immediately jumps delicately up onto his knee and curls up there. She doesn’t quite purr like a real cat, but the sound is still pretty nice.

Shiro smiles. “She likes you. Almost more than she likes me, I think.”

Keith scratches under her chin, fingernails scraping through short red fur. She purrs louder before dissolving into red jelly, floating in an amorphous blob on Keith’s knee. “I like her too. She’s unique.”

“Definitely.” For a second Shiro just stares at him, something considering in his gaze. “You’re talented, Keith. More talented than anyone else I know. How did you never end up in the navy?”

A wry grin stretches across Keith’s face. “Discipline issues. Nobody wants to teach manners to some orphan who hates authority.” He trails his finger through the blob mass of Red’s body. “I tried getting into the Garrison when I was sixteen. But I guess I had too many arrests on my record for them to accept me.”

“You were a troublemaker?”

“Yeah.” It’s weird, reflecting on all of this. Especially with Shiro. But Shiro makes Keith feel—not quite off-balance, but different. “Matron Ingrid always had to bail me out.” She was always so patient, too. Taking care of Keith through every fuck-up, never quite giving up on him even when he was being impossible. “I’m gonna pay her back for all the trouble I caused her. When we get back.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s not gonna spill it. He’s not that stupid. But Keith can’t help the little grin that slips out. “I’ve got it figured out. I think I’m finally doing something right for once.”

Shiro’s smile stays, warm and comfortable and just a little softer. “That’s good. But . . . it’s a little reckless to throw everything on one plan. You should at least have a backup.”

Keith’s never lived anything but recklessly. And he knows that Zarkon’s Fortune will give him the money to pay back Matron Ingrid, the money to live on his own so he doesn’t need to free-load off Pidge and Hunk anymore. Maybe he’ll even become something more than an orphan with a knack for machines and a bad temper.

Suddenly Shiro winces, the fingers on his right hand twitching, the yellow of his Galra eye glinting brighter than usual. “Shit.” He lifts the trembling arm, his hand sparking with the purple glow of Galra tech. Before Keith can do anything Red floats up, morphing into a strangely-shaped black screwdriver and dropping herself into Shiro’s flesh hand. “Thanks, Red,” Shiro says, hidden pain lacing the edges of his voice.

“You alright?” Keith leans forward, trying to get a look at the machinery as Shiro tightens some indistinct screw at his wrist. “Is it malfunctioning?”

Shiro waves him off. “I’m fine. It’s just been a little while since I got some proper repairs, that’s all. Haven’t seen my mechanic in a while.” He finishes whatever repairs he was doing and the twitching stops, the purple sparks disappearing. Shiro flexes his fingers, grins at Keith like nothing’s wrong. “There. Good as new.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. It feels a little weird sometimes, but that’s it.” Shiro shrugs. “I’ve gotten used to it, after all these years. Being a cyborg has its advantages.”

Maybe it’s impolite to ask, but Keith can’t help it. “How did it happen?” The atmosphere between them is close, almost intimate.

If Shiro’s offended by Keith’s prying, he doesn’t show it. He just holds out the metal hand like he’s showing it off, pulling up his pant leg to do the same with his leg. “Sometimes you have to give a few things up to chase a dream.”

“Was it worth it?”

For a second, Shiro’s eyes are soft and sad and distant. Then he smiles, all easy camaraderie. “That’s the gamble. I’m hoping it’ll turn out in my favour.”

Keith’s gaze catches on the seams of Shiro’s metal fingers, the dim shine of the docking bay lights reflecting off his arm. “How long have you had them?” Another intrusive question.

Again, Shiro doesn’t seem to mind. He flexes his fingers, stretching out his hand until it’s close enough for Keith to touch. “I’ve had the arm the longest. It’s . . . been a while.” His fingers crook in a ‘come here’ motion. “You can touch it, if you want.”

He shouldn’t. It’s too intimate, too profound. But Keith takes Shiro’s hand anyway, slim fingers tracing over the seams and edges of the metal. It’s warm to the touch, so unlike the cold chill most Galra metal emanates. It almost buzzes against his skin, some unknown machinery whirring away inside, soft clicks as Shiro’s fingers curl around Keith’s own.

Keith’s eyes shoot up. Shiro’s just staring at him, his eyes open and bright, something almost like wonder etched on his angular features.

His hand is warm and surprisingly soft around Keith’s. Big, too, much larger than Keith’s own, significantly stronger from what Keith’s seen. Shiro could probably crush the bones of his fingers. But he’s being gentle, so gentle it’s almost alarming.

Seconds later—long seconds, drawn out with each loud thud of Keith’s heart in his ears—Shiro unfurls his hand. “It’s almost like having a real hand, honestly,” he says. His tone is easy, friendly, but there’s something heavier beneath.

Keith swallows. Presses his fingertips against Shiro’s palm. It’s strange, how there’s no give. “Can you feel?”

“In a sense.” Shiro’s thumb brushes over Keith’s knuckles and Keith bites back a shiver. “It’s programmed to detect changes in heat, pressure, even texture. So I can feel, but it’s . . .” His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. “It’s not quite the same. I know I’m touching your hand, I know that your fingers are still cold, but I can’t . . . _feel_ it.” There’s a short pause and then Shiro grins, dangerous and enticing. “You have nice hands, Keith.”

Keith furrows his brow. “Nice?” Nobody’s ever described his hands as nice. He looks at his hand, at the slender fingers and bony knuckles, the crooked set of his pinky and the calluses on his thumb. Mechanic’s hands. Working hands. Not particularly nice.

But Shiro only nods. “Yeah. They’re . . . small. Delicate.” His thumb drags along the entire length of Keith’s finger and the skin on the back of Keith’s neck prickles with heat.

For a moment, they sit in silence. Shiro’s thumb brushing along Keith’s knuckles, Keith’s fingers pressed to the seams of Shiro’s metal wrist.

Shiro’s the one who pulls back. His hand moves back fast, deliberate, and he tugs up the leg of his pants again. “This leg, I got about ten years back. I got reckless, made a few mistakes, and had to pay the price.”

Ten years ago. “When you were my age.” Keith can’t imagine losing a limb. Can’t imagine having to learn to live with a machine as part of his body, wired into him.

Shiro presses his lips together. “Yeah.” The atmosphere suddenly feels different. Colder. There’s something hard behind Shiro’s eyes. “I’ve been in this business a long time.”

A long silence follows. This one isn’t comfortable like the rest. It’s heavy, and awkward, and there’s a hard barrier between them that Keith’s not really sure what to do with.

“I’ve seen a lot of shit,” Shiro says eventually. His voice is more even, his expression more open. The conversation is friendly again—nothing more, nothing less. “A word of advice, Keith; be more careful than I was. You don’t need any scars like mine.”

Scars. Shiro’s blank fear at the outpost flashes through Keith’s mind, and he wonders if the scars Shiro’s talking about are all missing limbs and marked skin.

The silence lingers. Anxiety grows in Keith’s chest, pressing on his lungs. He can’t get that look on Shiro’s face out of his mind, the first and only time Keith’s seen him be anything less than perfectly in control. The frozen shock when they were ambushed by pirates at the outpost, the inability to move.

“Hey.” Keith winces at the uncertainty in his own voice. “At the outpost . . . what happened back there?”

Shiro’s jaw twitches. “It’s . . . something that happens sometimes. A memory takes over.” He presses his lips together, stares into the space beyond Keith’s head. “I’ve lost more than just my limbs. This job isn’t always easy.” Then the hardness in his eyes disappears and for the first time since talking about his age he looks at Keith properly, a soft smile on his face. “I know I’ve said it already, but thank you. You saved my life.”

Keith can’t help but smile back. “You saved mine.”

Bright yellow glints from Shiro’s Galra eye. “You know, for a brat with discipline issues, you aren’t so bad.”

“For an asshole with a sick fetish for annoying me, you aren’t so bad yourself.”

The moment stretches, comfortable and soft and thrumming with a low undercurrent of energy. They’re still sitting across from each other but with Shiro’s cyborg leg stretched out their knees are touching. Such an insignificant point of contact, but Keith can feel it through his entire leg.

Something could happen here. Something big and significant and scary—scary in the way that makes Keith want to face it head on, run straight into it with his dagger and his sheer will. The good kind of fear.

The ship rocks and Keith is flung forward, hip slamming into the opposite side of the lifeboat, shoulder crashing into Shiro’s chest.

What the hell? He pushes away from Shiro, struggling to stand even as the ship rocks again with the force of something hitting it.

Shiro’s up in a second, jumping nimbly out of the boat. Keith follows, scrambling behind Shiro up the stairs back to the deck. “Are we under attack? More pirates?”

Getting up on deck answers that question. The crew is panicking, shouting and screaming as they scramble. Bright light and intense heat sear Keith’s side and he turns to see what looks like a massive explosion, rings of glowing clouds expanding outwards.

“Holy shit!” He looks up at the helm and there’s Pidge, staring at the explosion with Hunk standing next to her, fiery light reflecting off her thick glasses. “That’s the star Pelusa! It’s gone supernova!”


	10. you build me up and then i fall apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Human - Christina Perri](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5yaoMjaAmE&ab_channel=ChristinaPerri).

All Keith sees is a blur of white and blue as Allura sprints past him, hair streaming out behind her. “Coran! Take evasive action!”

“Yes ma’am!” Coran spins the wheel and the entire ship veers, nearly knocking Keith off his feet with the force of it. The heat of the supernova is getting stronger, prickling on Keith’s skin. Coran manages to spin the ship to face back into dark space but they aren’t fast enough, the waves of the explosion are spreading and they’re catching up—

“Everyone!” Matt screams from the rigging, “secure your lifelines! Get ready for a bumpy ride!”

The entire crew surges towards the main mast. Keith and Shiro sprint there and Keith ties the thick rope of his lifeline around his waist, securing it to the main mast with the knot his dad taught him. Beside him Shiro does the same, shares a look with Keith. There’s no fear in his face, nothing but fierce determination.

Shit, the waves are getting closer, burning so bright and so hot Keith can’t look at them without his eyes watering. Then the heat hits, a wave of it strong enough to stagger Keith. Somewhere glass shatters, a distant shrill shriek, and then the explosion reaches them. Flaming chunks of debris stream through the sky like meteors, crashing through the sails. Bigger and bigger, blowing sizzling holes through the sails, until—

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice is low, almost guttural. Keith turns to look, follows Shiro’s gaze. _Shit_.

Their entire view is being eclipsed by a flaming, broiling hunk of rock. It’s at least twice the size of the ship. And coming towards them fast, there’s no way to get out of its way or manoeuvre around it or destroy it.

A scorching metal hand slides into Keith’s and squeezes.

The rock presses closer, so near Keith can feel the heat coming from it, could almost reach out and touch it from the edge of the ship. But it’s slowing. It stops for just a moment in mid air, close enough to touch. Then it starts drifting further away, getting smaller and smaller.

“Mr. Holt! Status report!”

“Allura!” Keith’s eyes flicker up to Pidge, still standing at the helm, short hair blowing wildly in the wind from the explosion. “It’s the star! It’s devolving into a black hole!”

Fuck. Keith glances back at the star. Except it’s not a star anymore. It’s twin streams of light and fire spiralling into a tiny circle of empty, creeping void. A black hole. The ship lurches, starts drifting towards the event horizon. Fuck, fuck. They’ve gotta figure out a plan.

“Captain Allura!” Coran’s struggling with the wheel, heels dug into the floor, arms straining. “We’re being sucked in! I can’t get us free!”

“Yes you can, Coran!” With the grace of a lion Allura leaps to Coran’s side, grabbing the wheel and heaving to one side. “Ms. Holt! Tell us how to make it out of this!”

Before Pidge can respond a wave of pure energy crashes against the ship. Keith goes flying, skidding across the wooden deck, tight rope belt digging into his waist. His back slams against the railing of the ship and all the air leaves his lungs in a gasp, spine tingling with pain.

At the helm he sees Pidge struggling to stand, Hunk’s hand under her elbow helping her up. “It’s the magillic waves! There’ll be another one in exactly 47.2 seconds, and then the biggest magilla yet! We just need to ride it out! It’s the only chance we’ve got!”

Allura nods. There’s a hardness to her Keith hasn’t seen since the pirate attack. “You heard her! Mr. Holt, ensure that the sails are released and prepared!” Matt calls out the order and Keith moves to follow. “Mr. Kogane!” He stops, eyes flickering to Allura, almost prepared to defend himself. But all that’s in Allura’s expression right now is determination. “Make sure the lifelines are all secured!”

“Yes ma’am!” Keith double and triple checks every single lifeline, tightening the knots, looping another knot when the first isn’t good enough. The ship is approaching the black hole now, a plain circle of pure black getting bigger and bigger every second. “Lifelines secured, Captain!”

Another wave hits and Keith’s head slams against the mast, vision blurring. Screams and shouts and the roar of fire fill his ears, so loud it's deafening, pounding like a heartbeat against his skull. It’s all so _much_ , pressing in on Keith, crushing him with the weight of it. Maybe . . . maybe it would help if he slept . . .

“Keith!” Shiro’s there, hands pressing bruises around Keith’s arms to keep him standing. “C’mon buddy, don’t pass out now!”

“Allura!” Pidge’s scream is high and frantic. “The last wave is coming!”

“Understood!” Just beyond Shiro’s shoulder, out of focus, Allura and Coran shove against the wheel. “Brace for impact, everyone! Just hold onto your lifelines!”

“Trust me,” Shiro says. Then he presses Keith flat against the main mast, trapping him in with the broadness of his entire body, arms caging Keith on either side as Red curls into the space between them. Shiro’s warm and solid and Keith’s head is pounding and he curls against Shiro’s chest, squeezes his eyes shut as he braces for the last blast.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then a roar, louder than the rush of blood in Keith’s ears. Pure force knocks into the ship and the engine whirs to life, a silent hum against Keith’s back as solar energy streams in from the sails. He can’t breathe properly at this speed, heart stuttering and skipping, chest heaving against Shiro’s immovable form.

The first thing Keith hears after the buzz in his head has faded is cheering. His eyes blink open sluggishly, Shiro’s arms loosening around him. They . . . they all made it.

Allura stands proud at the helm, Coran at her side with a hand on her shoulder. “Well done everyone! We couldn’t have made it out without all of us working together!”

Keith staggers away from Shiro’s hold. His legs are wobbly, chest still heaving, head ringing with pain. They actually did it. He blinks hard, glances back at the black hole in the distance; it’s nothing more than a bright swirling light and a tiny speck of sheer nothing.

“Keith!” Keith barely has the time to turn before massive arms are wrapping around him, so tight he can’t breathe anymore, lifting him until his toes scrape against the deck. After a second Hunk puts him down, hands still clamped on Keith’s shoulders. His dark eyes are wet with tears. “Man, I was so freaked! I thought you might get hurt, I saw you go flying on that one magillic wave—”

“I thought you were dead for sure!” Pidge grins up at him, her eyes wild.

Keith snorts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pidge.”

She smiles. A real smile, gentle and soft, honey-brown eyes shining. “I’m glad you didn’t die, though. I would’ve missed you.” She wraps her arms around him, presses her face against his chest in a quick hug.

A second passes, touch aversion rearing up in Keith’s chest. He ignores it and pets Pidge’s hair. “I’m glad you didn’t die either.”

“Ahem.” Allura’s soft, accented voice immediately cuts through the friendly atmosphere and the immediate defensiveness rushes through Keith’s blood like a drug. Pidge steps away and he stares at Allura, eyes as hard as hers, a challenge and a shield all at once. Then she blinks, and her blue eyes shine with something almost like understanding. “I must commend you, Keith. You did a wonderful job of keeping the lifelines secured.”

It’s weird, getting a compliment from her. Now that the adrenaline has died down Keith feels tired, slightly offset. Allura being nice just doesn’t seem right. Still. “Thanks, Captain,” he says, nodding.

Allura nods back. Feels like some kind of understanding has passed between them. Then she turns back to the crew, head held high. “All hands accounted for, Mr. Holt?”

Silence. Keith cranes his neck but he doesn’t see Matt’s hair, doesn’t see the blue and white of his Altean Navy uniform. All he sees is Haggar, staring hard at something near the main mast, gold eyes glowing from beneath her hood.

“Mr. Holt? Matt?”

“Captain Allura.” Haggar’s voice, rough and ragged, carries easily over the tense silence. She glides forward, expression hidden beneath shadow. “I’m afraid Mr. Holt has been lost to us.” Yellow eyes flicker to Keith. “It seems his lifeline was not secured.”

A dead weight drops in Keith’s stomach.

“Keith,” and that’s Pidge, her voice suddenly distant through the rushing in Keith’s ears. “Keith, Keith what is she talking about?” Pidge is frantic, panicked, voice rising in pitch as she stumbles back a step. “ _Keith_?!”

“But I checked them all.” He double checked them. Triple checked, just to be sure. The knots were all tight, the lifelines secured. “I checked them, they were _fine_.”

Haggar’s gaze is cutting. “Clearly you didn’t.”

“But I did!” He shoves past her, storms to the main mast. “I fucking checked every—”

Matt’s lifeline is missing.

It’s just. Fucking gone. Like it never existed in the first place. Like it was erased from existence in a black hole. And Matt, Matt’s _gone_ , Matt’s never coming back and it’s Keith’s fault. And Pidge—

“ _Matt_ !” Pidge skids to a stop next to Keith. “Matt, no, _please_ ,” and there are tears dripping down her faintly freckled face, brimming in her pale eyes. “ _Please, please_!”

Allura coughs. Keith glances over his shoulder as a flicker of emotion passes over her face. Then it’s gone, leaving nothing but stone. “Mr. Holt—Matt—was a good man and an excellent First Mate. Better in both regards than many of us could ever hope to be.” She swallows. “But he knew the risks of this expedition. He wouldn’t want us to waste any time. Back to work, everyone. That’s an order.”

“ _That’s not good enough_ !” Pidge whirls on Keith, tears spilling over her cheeks, eyes blazing. She shoves a finger against Keith’s ribs and it _hurts_ , a bullet in Keith’s chest. “You killed him! You killed my brother, you got lazy and you killed him!”

Every word stabs through Keith’s lungs. He can’t breathe. Fuck. He glances around. Allura’s eyes on him are hard and vicious, Hunk looks disappointed, and. And Shiro’s not even looking at him. Shiro’s with Haggar.

So Keith turns. And he runs.


	11. hold me now and leave me never

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Surrender - Cash Cash](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAIoh9rxRi8&ab_channel=Proximity).

Keith hasn’t cried since two men in dark clothing knocked on his door and told him his dad was never coming back home. He still remembers it perfectly. They were stoic and silent and didn’t blink an eye when Keith started screaming. Didn’t even offer him words of comfort. Told him the news, then instructed him to pack up a duffel of his stuff before they shuttled him down to Earth.

After the first day, Keith didn’t cry again. He remembers numbness for a while, a hollow feeling that never quite went away. Then it got monotonous, and he kept going.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, staring out at the silvery-blue spiral of what used to be a star. It’s lonely, sitting up here on the rigging. Too lonely. Keith’s good at being alone but this is oppressive and heavy, a weight on his chest he can’t get rid of.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s tied and re-tied the length of rope in his hands. The skin on his fingers is starting to chafe.

Footsteps, uneven and gentle on the deck. Keith ignores them. Swallows again, pretends there aren’t tears prickling at the backs of his eyes. Wouldn’t be right to cry, when he didn’t lose anyone. Not like Pidge did.

“Hey,” Shiro says, his voice soft. It carries through the silence and Keith’s chest goes tight, like there’s a vice grip around his ribcage. The tenderness makes it so much worse, somehow. “You know it wasn’t your fault, right? You saved the life of every other person on this ship, Keith—”

“Shut up.”

“Keith . . .”

Keith turns, slipping down from the rigging and onto the railing of the ship. “Shut _up_ !” He throws the knot at Shiro’s chest, shoulders heaving as he breathes. “Don’t try to make me feel better about this, Shiro, you can’t fucking do that. I _screwed up_.”

Shiro shakes his head. His eyes are soft and gentle and Keith feels like a wild animal Shiro’s trying to placate. “Keith, it was an honest mistake.”

“I killed someone!” The words punch out of Keith’s chest, sharp and bitter. “I fucked up, and it got Matt killed!” Matt—Pidge’s big brother, all but family to Keith too—and now he’s dead. Keith tugs both hands through his hair, pulling so hard his scalp stings. “I thought—for a second, I thought I actually belonged somewhere, like I was actually more than just a fuckup—” He snarls, shoving past Shiro. “But I’m still that useless little orphan, huh?” Hollow laughter rings out over the ship’s deck. “Just forget it, Shiro.”

Keith’s back hits the centre mast so hard it knocks the air out of his lungs. “Keith, don’t you dare,” Shiro growls, one arm braced across Keith’s collar to keep him trapped there. “Don’t you dare say anything like that again. You aren’t useless, do you understand?” He leans in so close Keith goes cross-eyed. “You’re going to be great someday. One day you’ll rise above everything and shine like a star.”

Keith blinks at him. Tries to push away because it’s too much, it’s way too much and his heart feels like it’s going to burst. Shiro doesn’t let him.

“But only,” Shiro shoves against Keith a little harder, presses a little closer, “if you keep going. If you don’t give up and show every single damn person that you’re made of stardust. You’re a supernova, Keith, and the day you realize it . . .” The hard look in Shiro’s eyes softens. “Well, I hope I’m there to see your brilliance.”

Keith can’t speak. Can’t even breathe. Shiro’s words resonate in his chest like a shot from a bullet, ringing in his ears. Tears well up in his eyes. Keith doesn’t even blink them away, can’t take his eyes off Shiro’s face even though it’s getting blurry.

The first sob forces itself out of Keith’s throat like a dry heave. He collapses forward and Shiro shifts to catch him, wrapping thick arms around him, pressing Keith’s face into his chest.

“Hey, now,” Shiro says, fingers twisting in Keith’s hair. “It’s okay, Keith. You’re okay.”

Keith cries, shoulders shaking, fists trembling as he curls them against Shiro’s chest. Crying hurts but it’s also a relief, like some weight is sloughing off his shoulders with each unsteady sob. Shiro’s just—solid. In a way Keith hasn’t had in a long time.

“That’s it, there you go.” Shiro’s hands rub circles on Keith’s back. Warm and steadying.

Keith cries until he can make himself stop. He pulls back from Shiro with a sniff, scrubs tearstains off his cheeks. This kind of vulnerability is terrifying but somehow not entirely unwelcome.

Shiro smiles at him, soft and gentle. “You alright, Keith?”

“Yeah.” He is. Yeah, he’s off-balance, but Shiro’s hands on his shoulders keep him from falling. “Yeah. Shiro . . . thanks.”

Shiro shrugs. “It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t.” It bursts out of Keith’s chest, his eyes hard as he stares up at Shiro. “It wasn’t nothing, Shiro. I’ve never—nobody has ever believed in me like you.”

Shiro’s eyes turn sad. “That’s not right, Keith.”

Now it’s Keith’s turn to shrug. Not like he’s really given anyone much reason to believe in him. “It’s true. You make me better.”

Shiro laughs, dry and almost humourless, his hands tightening on Keith’s shoulders. “If anyone is making anyone better, it’s you.” He sighs, glances off to the side with an expression Keith can’t read. “You’re a better man than me, Keith. Don’t sell yourself short by comparing us.”

“Shiro,” Keith growls, eyes narrowing, hands curling around the back of Shiro’s neck, “shut the fuck up.” Then he drags Shiro down and kisses him.

For a long second, Shiro doesn’t do anything. He stands still, frozen, grip slack on Keith’s shoulders. Keith presses against him more insistently, bites at Shiro’s lower lip just to get him to _do_ something. It’s not one-sided. He knows that. So why isn’t Shiro doing anything?

When Keith pulls back Shiro is just staring at him. Eyes wide, one liquid dark, the other glowing brighter than a star. “Keith . . .” His voice is low, ragged at the edges. Warmth curls in Keith’s abdomen at the sound of it.

“Kiss back.” It’s more forceful than Keith meant, his voice still rough from crying, but he doesn’t care. Whatever’s going on under Shiro’s guarded, bewildered expression—he wants none of it.

But Shiro steps back, hands slipping off Keith’s shoulders. He shakes his head, frowns. “I’m not good for you, Keith.” His voice is so sure, like it’s some veritable fact and not just self-deprecation.

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s true, Keith.” Shiro sighs. “You may not think it’s true—”

“I know it’s not true.” Keith steps forward and Shiro takes another step back, eyes widening fractionally. “You’re better for me than anyone I’ve ever met.” Now that he’s spilled his feelings he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to. Keith’s always been a shit liar. “Even if you weren’t—” Shiro opens his mouth like he’s about to argue but Keith pushes on, reaching out and grabbing Shiro’s wrist before Shiro can move away, “I _don’t care_.”

Shiro shakes his head again, tugs his wrist, but Keith’s grip holds strong. “This is a bad idea, Keith.”

Keith digs his fingers into Shiro’s wrist. “Why?”

“I’m too old for you.” Shiro won’t meet Keith’s eyes. He’s already made a decision, Keith can see it in the set of his jaw, but it’s the _wrong decision_. “I’m ten years older than you.”

“What difference does that make? You—”

“It makes a whole hell of a lot of difference.” Shiro looks at him then, really looks at him, his eyes hard. “You’re still young, Keith. You have so much potential. I’m not going to hold you back from that. You deserve better than some scarred mess that’ll only keep you down.”

Keith bares his teeth, shifts half a step forward. “You raise me up,” he says, and it just keeps coming. “I was nobody before I met you. But you keep believing me, you make me want to be better.” He pushes his chin out, stands taller with his shoulders back. “You changed my life.”

Shiro shakes his head. Takes a full step back, his wrist still caught in Keith’s grip. “No, Keith—”

“I love you.”

It’s as much a surprise to himself as it seems to be to Shiro. They stare at each other, Keith’s words hanging in the air between them. Keith’s never understood the power of words until now. He’s just irreversibly changed everything between them.

“I love you, Takashi,” he says, softer now, hand slipping from Shiro’s wrist down to his hand. His metal hand, smooth and warm to the touch. “You know I mean it.”

Shiro’s eyes widen. He’s staring at Keith with reverence, disbelief. Metal fingers intertwine with Keith’s, humming with an electric current that raises goosebumps on Keith’s arms.

Shiro steps forward, his flesh hand coming up to cup Keith’s cheek. “I know,” he says. He hesitates, just for a second, eyes flickering between Keith’s stare and his lips—and then something changes in his expression and he presses their lips together.

The kiss is harder than Keith expected. Unsteadying, pushing Keith off balance with the force of it. He dives into it anyways, lips moving against Shiro’s, arms winding around his broad shoulders.

Wide hands curl around Keith’s narrow waist. Thumbs press bruisingly into the jut of his hips and heat races up his skin, sharp and stinging.

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs against his mouth. Keith bites Shiro’s lips in response, fingers scratching in the buzzed hair at the base of Shiro’s scalp. A growl rumbles against Keith’s chest and suddenly they’re moving, tripping over each other until Keith’s back slams hard against the ship’s mast. “Keith,” Shiro says again. He slips his fingers under Keith’s shirt, drags his nails up Keith’s sides until the shirt is bunched up around his ribs.

A cool breeze hits Keith’s overheated skin, makes him shiver as his nerve endings spark from the contrast. Everything’s turned up, oversensitized, an electric current running along his skin from every contact point between him and Shiro.

Shiro pulls back and Keith feels the loss, his skin going cold and clammy. “Keith, wait. We should—”

Fuck that. Keith drags Shiro back by the front of his shirt and bites _hard_ at Shiro’s jaw. “Shut up,” he snaps, mouthing along Shiro’s neck, hands dragging down the man’s chest. There’s too much heat building under Keith’s skin to stop, to indulge whatever self-deprecation Shiro’s gonna throw out.

“Keith, baby.” The pet name sends a jolt down Keith’s spine, his fingers jittering at the waist of Shiro’s pants. A hand on his collarbone pushes him back up against the mast, away from Shiro’s wild-eyed grin. “I was gonna say we should get off deck.” Shiro’s flushed, Galra eye blazing, but there’s a predatory glint to his smile.

For a second, Keith just stares. Then a slow grin spreads across his face, and his fingers curl in Shiro’s waistband to pull their hips together.

“Yes, sir.”


	12. leave me in the cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Landfill - Daughter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OpWO_byqSr8&ab_channel=LexiJ.).

Keith wakes up cold and alone.

He blinks, groggy, pushes himself up onto his elbows. Sheets pool around his waist as he sits up properly, glancing around Shiro’s room. No Shiro. He must already be up. And—letting Keith sleep in.

Keith huffs out a laugh, smiling in the privacy of the room. There’s giddiness bubbling up in his chest like he’s a little kid with a crush, like the butterflies Keith used to hear about but never really experienced. It’s—it’s nice. A little disconcerting, a little uneasy, but still nice.

Now that he’s alone he glances around, taking in the sights of Shiro’s room he never really got the chance to see last night. It’s cozy, if a little spartan, not much more than a bed and a desk. The one real hint of personality is the stack of books on the desk, flight manuals and astronomy books and fiction novels that look like they’re about action and adventure.

The image of Shiro laying in bed, getting absorbed by a story—Keith’s heart stutters. It’s endearing. Makes him want to borrow one of the books, follow along and connect with Shiro in a way that’s more intimate than anything they did last night.

Still. He can’t stay in bed all day. Keith slips out of bed, ignoring the soreness in his thighs, the twinge of pain at the base of his spine. He dresses in the clothes scattered across Shiro’s floor, unable to keep himself from grinning. He’s just . . . happy. Happy in a way he’s never really been before, like everything’s slotting into place.

He glances at himself in the mirror above Shiro’s desk. His black hair is a mess, sticking up all over the place. Small, mouth-shaped bruises litter the skin of his neck, dipping down beneath the collar of his shirt. Keith presses a finger into one and flushes at the spark of something brighter than pain.

Just as he’s about to head back out into the kitchen, voices drift in through the cracked door. Shit. Keith’s got no interest in the rest of the crew seeing him come out of Shiro’s room looking like _this_.

“Why all this waiting?” That’s Sendak’s voice, gruff and low. “We want to get moving.” What’s he talking about? Keith peers through the crack in the door, seeing Sendak clustered with a few other members of the crew, arms crossed over his chest.

A silver arm shoots out, grabs Sendak by the collar and drags him down. Down into Shiro’s face. “What have I said?” His expression looks so different—hard and angular, no hint of softness. “We don’t move until we have the treasure.”

Keith’s stomach drops. No. That can’t—he didn’t hear that.

In a hiss of black smoke Haggar appears between Sendak and Shiro, pushing the latter backwards with a single thin hand. Keith cranes his head to see, opens the door just a crack more to see her and Shiro staring each other down.

“I see no point in this waiting,” she hisses, sneering up at Shiro. “We have the perfect opportunity. We kill them all, and take the treasure by force. It would be efficient.” A smile stretches across her narrow face. “It would be _easy_.”

Bright purple lights up Shiro’s hand as it closes around Haggar’s throat. “Don’t forget who’s in charge, here,” he snarls, bringing her so close their noses are touching. “Disobey my orders again like with that pirate crew you hired back at the outpost and you’ll get _nothing_. And don’t even get me started on that shit you just pulled with Holt.”

Keith’s heart stutters, throat closing around a choked-off gasp. Matt. Haggar—Haggar killed Matt? And Shiro—

Haunting, echoed laughter rings through the room, piercing in Keith’s ears. Haggar disappears from Shiro’s grasp in a flash of black, reappearing so close to the door Keith almost jumps. “Such strong words, _Champion_. But I’ve seen the truth.”

Champion. _Champion_. Ulaz warned him about the Champion. Ulaz warned him about so many things and Keith didn’t listen, completely disregarded everything.

“Got more tricks to play, Space Witch?”

“It’s that Kogane boy.” Shiro’s expression doesn’t change. “You seem to have a soft spot for him.”

Shiro—Shiro _laughs_ , like the concept itself is absurd. Keith can’t even breathe. “Oh, really? Listen, I care about getting what’s owed to me. I care about Zarkon’s Fortune. Nothing else.” More laughter. Shiro’s face is so cold, so dismissive. “Do you really think some little brat can change that?”

Haggar hisses. “So you didn’t sleep with him?”

“Of course I slept with him.” Keith wants to be sick. There’s _nothing_ on Shiro’s face. Nothing but derision. “I made nice with the kid to keep him from getting too suspicious. Fucking him was just an added bonus.”

Fuck. Fuck. Keith stumbles back from the door, hands clutching at his chest. He can’t breathe—he can’t breathe.

Dimly, he hears a shout of, “land ho!” from above deck. It doesn’t even register.

Everything—everything was a lie. Shiro never—and Keith—he falls back against the wall, clawing at his throat. He can’t breathe, his throat is closed up and he can’t breathe, it hurts, it _hurts_ , like he’s being crushed from the inside out, torn apart, pressed too tight, skin ripping at the seams.

He screwed up. Oh, fuck, he screwed up. Don’t trust the Galra cyborg _don’t trust the Galra cyborg don’t trust the Galra cyborg_ —

Stop it. _Stop it_. He can’t do this right now. Captain Allura. He needs to find Allura, needs to tell her that the crew can’t be trusted, that they’re going to betray all of them. That Shiro—

Keith shakes his head, tugs at his hair. Allura. He stumbles back to Shiro’s bedroom door and pushes it open, swaying as he walks into the kitchen, body heavy and unsteady. He just needs to get to Allura and warn her. He stumbles up the steps, hand on the wall to steady himself.

Heavy, uneven steps creak at the top of the stairs down to the galley. Keith freezes, staring up at mismatched eyes. Dark and gold.

“Keith?” Shiro’s eyes have gone wide, his lips parted, expression soft and gentle. A lie, it’s _a lie_. “You’re awake?”

Keith swallows. Blinks. Pushes down the panic and the bile rising in his throat, steeling himself. “Yeah.”

Shiro stares at him for a second. Then he walks down the stairs, his body language easy and familiar. Keith backs away until his tailbone hits a table, hands skittering along the edge of it. “Thought you’d be tired.” His hands are behind his back but Keith can hear the sizzle as his hand lights up.

Fight or flight. Keith needs to escape. He edges his hand behind his back, fingers closing around the hilt of his dagger. “I’m a light sleeper,” he says. “I woke up.”

“Right, of course.” Nodding, Shiro steps closer, until there’s barely a foot between them. “Maybe you should head back to bed, Keith. You look a little tired.” His arm twitches. The cyborg arm. No time to waste.

Keith jabs his dagger into Shiro’s leg, through his pants and between two of the metal plates constructing his ankle. A crack in the armour. The blade digs a couple inches down into the seam and Shiro cries out in pain, sharp and distinct—and Keith wiggles his dagger out as he slides out of the way. The metal plating dislodging to expose a mess of muscle-like wires, most of them hanging limply, frayed ends sparking.

Keith’s already up the stairs. Shiro yells behind him, words of aggression and anger that turn into a buzzing numbness in Keith’s ears. No time to dwell on it. Mutiny is coming.

Far beyond the ship, he actually sees it. Zarkon’s Fortune. The planet with two crossing rings, half of it obscured by clouds. _Shit_ , they’re really here, they don’t have much time.

Keith throws himself up the stairs to Allura’s stateroom, slamming the door open and falling inside. “Mutiny,” he calls, stumbling into the wall. Four sets of eyes turn to stare at him. Pidge and Hunk have been crying. Because of Matt—but they can’t think about that right now. “They’re gonna mutiny.”

In a flash of white Allura stands, her chair scraping as it slides across the room. “The Galra?”

Keith nods. “They’re _pirates_ ,” he says. “We gotta get off the ship.”

Already Allura’s at her wall safe, throwing it open. “Who here knows how to use a gun?” She’s already slipping one into her belt, tossing another to Coran who catches it easily. “Ms. Holt? Mr. Garett?”

Pidge and Hunk have never touched guns in their lives.

“Mr. Kogane?”

Keith shakes his head. “I’ve got this,” he says, showing his dagger.

Allura nods. “Very well.” Her hand slips into her safe again and she pulls out the map, glowing purple. Something sparks in Keith’s chest. “Kogane. Guard this with your life, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She tosses it—and Red catches it mid-air in her jaws, scampering through the air as a tiny red lion.

“Red!” Keith grabs the map, rips it out of Red’s jaws. “No!” She trills like a whine but Keith shoves the map into the pocket of his jacket. It feels—good, having it back. Comfortable. Like he’s supposed to have it. There’s that same pull he used to get from the Galra factories back on Earth.

A sizzling at the door knocks him out of it. All five of them turn to look; the door handle, firmly spun shut, is starting to glow a vivid orange. Shit, they’re melting it open from the other side, won’t take long for them to get through. Red chitters, suddenly terrified, dissolving into a gelatinous blob and curling against Keith’s neck. She obviously doesn’t wanna deal with what’s on the other side of that door.

Apparently Allura’s got the same idea. “Stand back,” she says, then aims her gun at a section of the wooden flooring. The gunfire blasts it open, revealing machinery below, the narrow corridors of the engineering deck. “Everyone, get down, we must make it to the docking bay. Coran?”

“I’ve got it,” Coran says, holstering his own gun and hopping down below. “Follow me!”

Pidge first. Then Hunk, then Allura ushers Keith into the hole.

The four of them sprint through the narrow hallways, skidding around corners as Coran leads them further into the belly of the ship. Above, Keith hears a loud crash almost like an explosion, then shouting. The pirates have gotten through.

“Speed it up!” he yells forward, reaching back to grab Allura’s wrist and tug her even faster. “They’re coming!” He’s got no interest in being on the wrong side of Haggar’s fury.

Finally they reach the docking bay, the lifeboat hanging steady and peaceful over the closed door. “Get in!” Allura shouts, pulling the lever to open the hatch below. It’s slow, it’s _too slow_. Heavy footsteps are approaching behind them—heavy, uneven footsteps, accompanied by the whirring of a mechanical leg. “Keith, get in the boat!”

Suddenly Keith’s frustrated, catching her wrist again. “You’re coming too!”

“I’ll hold them off!”

“Not happening,” Keith snarls, tugging at her surprising strength. “We’ll be better off with you, we still need a Captain.” He peers over her shoulder, heart hammering in his chest as shadows flicker around a corner. “If anyone’s staying behind it’s me.”

For a moment, Allura just stares at him. Then her blue eyes harden, bright and glittering like glass, and she nods. “No heroic sacrifices,” she says, her voice commanding like a queen’s. “Do only what is necessary.”

Keith nods. “I’ll follow if I can.” If he can get the door behind them closed, it’ll give them a few extra minutes. Long enough to get away, to make it down to the planet surface.

Shit, the _map_. He turns to see the boat already drifting down into space.

“Allura!” Her head snaps up. “Here!” He fishes the map out of his pocket and tosses it easily through the air to Allura’s waiting hands.

In a flash of red it’s across the room, snatched up by Red.

“Red!” Keith dives towards her but she spins out of the way, a trilling purr filling the room. “ _Red_!”

A loud blast echoes through the room, the shrill sound of metal breaking scraping on Keith’s ears. He turns—and it’s Shiro, aiming a gun down through the hatch. At the smoking engine of the lifeboat as it disappears from view. Shit, _no_ —

He crashes into Shiro’s side before the next shot can go off. Shiro’s solid muscle and metal but Keith is strong and determined and fucking _pissed_ and he grapples with Shiro until they’re both on the ground, a vicious mess of limbs.

While Shiro’s down Keith springs up, scrambling across the room to where Red disappeared with the map. “Red?” She floats above his head, whirring and trilling, still clutching the map, rapidly morphing between being a blob and a lion. “Red, give me the map, c’mon.” There’s still time, still time to get down to the lifeboat, still time to get the map out of Shiro’s grasp. Out of the _Champion_ ’s grasp.

“Red,” Shiro says, his voice soft and docile. “Come here, girl.” He’s across the room, on the other side of the long wooden walkway.

Red drifts towards him and panic spikes in Keith’s chest. “Red, c’mere, _c’mon_ . It’s me, it’s _Keith_ —”

“Red, come to me—”

Red chirps, still switching back and forth, bobbing in the air. Then she whines, a single drawn out note that resonates off-key in Keith’s chest, and launches herself into a coil of rope.

“ _No_ —!” Both him and Shiro dive for it at the same time. Shiro gets there first—longer legs, he’s faster—but Keith kicks out, catching Shiro in the ankle. It buckles easily and Shiro shouts, his leg sparking as more wirey muscle fibres snap.

Keith just. Stares at him a second. His eyes meet Shiro’s, the Galra yellow glowing bright and furious. So familiar after all these months. Keith’s chest burns, lungs going tight, throat closing up.

He ducks down and grabs the map, jumping down into the lifeboat below without a second thought.

Hunk stares at him wide-eyed. “Keith?”

“We gotta _go_!” He grabs the joysticks and shoves the ship forward, leaning forward so hard his back strains. “C’mon, _c’mon_ —”

Suddenly Allura shoves against him, knocking the entire lifeboat to the right. “Brace yourselves!”

A blast rocks into the boat. It knocks the air out of Keith’s lungs and cracks his neck, aftershocks pounding in his chest. Shit, the cannon. They can’t take another hit like that, the ship’s already damaged, and—fuck, she’s spiralling, the engine sparking next to him, overheating just like his bike back home.

“Hold on to something,” he shouts, straining against gravity as they’re tugged down to the planet’s surface. It’s too strong, this boat can’t hold together, wood is already splintering beneath them just from the force of falling. “Everyone, hang on!”

The boat tumbles into what seems like a forest, knocking against impossibly tall trees, the sides cracking and breaking from impact. Shit, they’re not gonna hold together, this whole damn thing is coming apart.

Keith veers to the right, stomach in his throat—and the entire engine explodes in a cloud of black smoke. He can’t feel the boat beneath him anymore, can’t see anything but black smoke, his hands still tight around the joysticks. He’s falling, falling—

**END ACT 1**


	13. your boldness stands alone among the wreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Little Lion Man - Mumford & Sons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xd8tOAJMA8Q&ab_channel=MumfordandSons).

**START ACT 2**

Everything is sore. Lingering pain drifts through Keith’s body, aching and muted. Nothing too serious, it seems, just an ache throughout his entire body.

He coughs, eyes blinking open. Around him is nothing but green; tall mossy trees stretching into the sky, what looks like giant fungi sprouting from soggy green grass. It’s quiet, almost unnaturally so, no breeze rustling any leaves or animals chirping into the humid air. Nothing but Keith’s own laboured breathing, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

With a grunt he pushes himself up, surveying his crash site. The lifeboat’s nowhere to be seen. There’s just the engine, which is basically a mangled mess of smoking mechanical parts crushed up against the base of a tree trunk. A tattered solar sail is wrapped around the lower branches of the tree.

Shit, that must mean Keith didn’t crash with the rest. The engine would’ve propelled him further after the lifeboat split, would’ve kept him in the air.

At least he knows the trajectory. Keith turns, glancing over his shoulder. Silky chunks of the solar sail hang from dozens of broken branches. That way, then. That must be where the rest of them are.

Keith makes a quick, cursory check of himself. Nothing broken, nothing sprained. A few bruised ribs, burn marks on his arms from the malfunctioned engine, dozens of scratches and bruises littering his body. He’s had worse, for sure.

Ignoring the twinge of pain Keith pushes himself up, shaking off the worst of it. He’s still got his dagger, and—he shoves his hand into his pocket—he’s still got the map.

The map—it starts whirring, floating out of his pocket. What the hell? Is it reacting to being on the planet? Is it gonna show him Zarkon’s Fortune? The lines of the map start to glow a brilliant Galra purple and Keith’s heart stutters, excited despite himself.

Then the glow turns red, and the map dissolves into a chirping amorphous mass.

“Red!” She giggles, twirling out of Keith’s reach when he tries to grab for her. “What are you—where’s the map?”

She turns into a coil of rope, then rapidly shifts back into a fluffy red lion. Shit, _shit_.

“It’s still on the ship?” Keith snarls into the open air, tugging his hands through his hair. “Fuck, _fuck_ , that means they have it, that means Shiro—”

Well, there’s no use in panicking about it now. The best Keith can do is find the rest of them, try to figure out some what to get that map back. Because no fucking way is he letting Shiro even _see_ that treasure. For all their disagreements he’s with Allura: that treasure is going to help rebuild what the Galra Empire destroyed. No Champion is getting his metal hands anywhere near it.

“C’mon, Red,” Keith says softly, motioning for her to follow as he starts in what he hopes is the direction of the lifeboat crash. “Let’s get moving.”

She purrs, landing on his shoulder and curling into the curve of his neck. It’s soothing, having her there. Makes him feel a little more real, a little more balanced.

The forest seems to grow darker as Keith walks. The mossy trees climb ever higher, twining together high above his head to make some kind of mossy canopy. Barely any light from the star peeks through to the forest floor below. Keith doesn’t like it. It’s too quiet. Not like normal nature, but eerie, like there’s nothing even alive here.

His fingers tighten around the hilt of his dagger, thumb brushing over the wrappings. Red chirps in his ear.

Something’s wrong, here. Keith’s learned to trust his instincts and he knows there’s something off about this place.

Bushes rustle to his left despite there being no wind and no trace of animals. Keith freezes, twirling his dagger to relieve the nervous energy coursing through him. Something’s here. Something is watching him, following him.

Another rustle and Keith dives for it, scraping his skin. His hands close around something cold and almost as soft as skin. He pulls, tugging whatever it is out into the open, wrestling it down to the ground with his dagger ready to strike.

“Woah!” It’s—it’s a _human_. Dark eyes blink up at Keith, wide and terrified. “Woah, woah, calm down, man!”

What the hell is a human doing here? _How_ is a human here? This place is supposed to be the resting place of Emperor Zarkon’s great treasure, there’s no way any humans should be hanging around. Whatever’s going on, Keith doesn’t trust it.

He presses the tip of the dagger to the guy’s throat. “What do you want?”

“Um, if you get off me I would _tell_ you—”

Keith presses the dagger in until it’s touching his skin. “Answer the question.”

The guy makes a face, eyes widening. “Geez, fine, fine,” he says, wriggling under Keith. “I was following you, okay? You’re the first human I’ve seen in years, ever since—since—since—” His eyes flash yellow, head twitching. It’s uncanny, he’s moving like a machine.

Keith smacks him upside the head with the hilt of his dagger and suddenly the guy has human eyes again.

“Huh, I can’t remember.” A wry grin stretches across his face. It’s already infuriating. “Hey, you’re new! You can get me off this hunk of junk!”

“ _What_?”

The guy snorts. “Geez, you deaf or something buddy? You came here on a ship, right? So we can leave on the ship!” He rolls his eyes. “You would not _believe_ how long I’ve been all alone here. Well, almost alone, but she doesn’t count. It’s gotta be, what, twen—twen—twen—”

Keith smacks him again. Apparently that works.

The yellow eyes flicker away and Keith points the tip of his dagger at the guy’s face. “You aren’t human.”

“Well, no shit!” The not-human laughs, loud and mean and abrasive. “I’m an android, dumbass. It’s all metal.”

That’d explain why his skin didn’t feel quite real. Must be something synthetic. Still, it’s a far cry better than anything Keith has ever seen before. Since when is proper artificial intelligence even a thing? Nobody’s that far along, Pidge would’ve geeked out about it.

So far, it doesn’t seem like this android is anything dangerous. If he is, Keith can deal with it. So Keith stands, letting the android up off the ground. “Who made you?”

“Who made me?” The android makes a face, yellow flickering in his eyes. “Ah, shit, who made me?” It’s like he’s asking himself. He cranes his neck, spinning in place like the surroundings will give him some hint—and Keith catches an opening at the back of his neck, a tiny notch in the otherwise smooth brown skin where it looks like a microchip might go. “Um, can I get back to you on that one?”

Great, so there’s a human-looking android here _and_ he’s malfunctioning.

Keith sighs, shaking his head. “Fine, whatever.”

“So!” The android extends his hand. “I’m Lance!” His face screws up. “Well, kinda, that’s the name I gave myself.”

Keith takes the hand, giving it a brief shake. “You named yourself?”

“Yup! Don’t remember my real name, so that’s the one I’ve got!” Lance looks Keith up and down, his brow furrowed. “Huh, you really don’t look like rescue material. I thought whoever would come and get me would be, like, at least a hot girl, or something—”

“I’m not here to rescue you!” Keith snarls, stepping up into Lance’s face. “I’m trying to find my friends! We crashed here and I don’t need some android talking shit, especially with _Galra pirates_ looking for us—”

“Galra pirates!” Lance’s eyes light up.

“Yes, Galra—”

“I remember Galra pirates!” The sheer excitement in Lance’s voice rubs at the raw ends of Keith’s nerves. “Yeah, I used to know a bunch of them! Now they’re all gone, even the guy who made me. Or, well, they’re _almost_ all gone. Except _her_ , but she’s never around. I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “You knew Zarkon?”

Lance’s eyes flash yellow. “Z—Z—Zar—”

Growling, Keith tugs a hand through his hair. “Nevermind.” Not like that matters at this point. He doesn’t have time to humour Lance, he has to find the rest of the crew before Shiro does. They need to figure out a way to keep Shiro from getting that treasure.

He turns away from Lance, heading back in the direction he’d been travelling, Red chittering as she stares over his shoulder.

“Woah, hey!” Lance falls into step beside him, face screwed up in a scowl. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you.”

“Oh no you don’t, _you’re_ taking me off this planet.” Lance elbows him in the side and Keith flinches, fingers tightening around his dagger. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Keith.”

“Keith. Okay, Keith, how are we getting out of here?”

“We’re not.”

“What?”

Keith scowls. “We’re looking for a crashed lifeboat.”

Lance snorts, kicking at the undergrowth as they walk. “Great, so you’re a bad pilot?”

“We got _shot_.”

“Probably because you’re so bitchy.”

“You—” Keith whirls on him, dagger already at his throat, gripping the front of Lance’s shirt to keep him from running off.

Lance’s eyes flicker to his left. “Oh, hey, I think I found your crashed lifeboat!”

Keith starts, hands falling from Lance’s shirt. He follows Lance’s gaze and there’s the boat. Or. What’s left of it. Wooden boards are scattered among the trees like the entire thing exploded on impact. There’s no sign of any of the others. Nothing but spots of blood staining a few of the wooden boards, drips on the ground. Red whimpers, burrowing her head into the collar of Keith’s jacket.

Finally, Lance is quiet. Keith steps away from him, marching into the middle of the crash site. Now that he’s closer he can see a smear of something not quite blood on the mossy growth lining the ground, shining bright pink in the light. Altean blood, maybe?

Whatever it is, there’s a trail of it. Leading further into the forest, not a smear anymore but a trail of drips and splatters. Someone was injured, enough to bleed, and now they’re being carried.

“C’mon,” Keith says gruffly, already following the trail.

Lance catches up easily with absurdly long legs. “Are . . . are your friends okay?” He sounds genuinely worried, a catch in his voice Keith doesn’t have time to deal with right now but can’t bring himself to point out.

“They have to be,” he says simply. Any other option isn’t one he’s willing to consider.

They walk through the forest in silence. Keith keeps following the trail. The almost-blood thins out considerably as time goes on, but it’s worrying that the blood is still coming at all. Whoever was hurt—Allura or Coran, most likely—was hurt _bad_.

When he hears talking, his heart leaps. That’s Pidge’s voice, distinct and rambling. The lower, softer tone of Hunk’s voice is more of a murmur, less distinguishable even against the silence.

Keith speeds up, all but sprinting through the trees in the direction of the voices. He barely registers Lance keeping pace beside him until he’s skidding into a tiny little clearing, the first thing he sees a shock of brilliant white hair—

“Keith!” Before Keith can register anything he’s being scooped up in a hug, strong arms around his middle lifting his feet off the ground. “You’re okay!” When Hunk puts him down Keith can see he’s been crying, eyes red and puffy. “We had no idea what happened, everything exploded and then you weren’t there . . .”

Keith puts a hand on Hunk’s arm, squeezes. “I’m alright,” he says.

Pidge clears her throat. She’s been crying too. There’s a tiredness to her eyes Keith recognizes. Like he’s looking into a mirror and seeing himself eleven years ago, when he was still raw with loss and confusion.

“Haggar killed him,” he says. Not because he wants to shift blame but because she deserves to know. Because nobody ever told Keith exactly what happened to his dad. The word ‘accident’ rings heavy and loud in his ears.

Pidge knows that, somehow. She nods, sniffling, dragging the heel of her hand over her eyes. Then she meets Keith’s gaze, eyes blazing with something dangerous. “She’ll pay for that,” she says, and Keith believes her.

“Keith.” That’s Allura’s voice. Rough around the edges, slightly faint. Keith turns to her and she’s sitting slumped against a tree, vivid pink blood staining her blue and white uniform. It’s coming from her abdomen, the wound disguised by her delicate hand, and Keith’s panic spikes.

“Captain,” he says, striding forward. Coran’s already there fussing over her but Keith ignores him, touching his fingers to Allura’s bloodstained hand. “What happened?”

Allura shakes her head. “This is nothing. A mild injury.”

Abdomen injuries aren’t mild. Especially not when they’re bleeding like that. Keith’s fingers twitch. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I’m alright,” she says, coughing delicately. “Alteans have advanced healing abilities. I’ll be—I’ll be just fine.” Her blue eyes meet Keith’s, sharp despite the pain he can see behind them. “The map? Where is it?”

Keith curses. “It’s still on the ship.”

“ _What_?!”

“Allura,” Coran fusses, pressing her back against the tree, hands fluttering around her shoulders. “Please, you must stay still!”

“Red thought we were playing,” Keith explains, running a finger along Red’s spine. “She hid the real map and morphed into it. So now it’s up on the ship.”

Allura groans through her teeth. “Dammit,” she snarls, her voice briefly losing the elegance it’s always had. “Those bloody pirates must have it now.” She pushes away from the tree again, gritting her teeth. “We mustn't let them find the treasure—”

This time it’s Keith pushing her back. “Captain, all due respect, but we need to find you somewhere safe.”

“I’m perfectly capable—” her words dissolve into a coughing fit, shoulders trembling with the force of it.

“Um,” Lance says, speaking up for the first time. “I’ve got somewhere you guys can stay, it’s pretty safe. I might even have bandages, sometimes _she_ gets in trouble and I have to patch her up—”

Keith glances over his shoulder. Lance looks entirely serious, his face set in grim determination. Keith glances back further, to see Hunk’s terrified expression of worry, Pidge’s fear that she’s trying to hide. He looks back to Lance. “Take us there.”


	14. i've been settling scores, i've been fighting so long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Run To You - Pentatonix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sp7PS_UN8Lo&ab_channel=PTXofficial).

Lance’s home isn’t much; it’s in a vast, open field, in what looks like some kind of ancient structure. Moss climbs up the sides, clinging to the open window. It’s small and cluttered, but it offers a good vantage point of everything around them, no trees to obscure their vision.

Inside is an absolute mess. Various rugs and scraps of fabric scatter the floor like haphazard rugs. In the corner is a makeshift shelf made of metal chunks, covered in various possessions Keith can’t even begin to figure out. There are books, little trinkets, what looks like a few stuffed animals (where did he even get those?). Mechanical accessories are piled in the other corner, probably enough for Lance to do maintenance and repair on himself, but it doesn’t look like much else.

And just like Lance said, there are also bandages hidden inside a metal chest Keith just assumed was a hunk of steel. It’s not much in the way of first aid, but it’s something, so Coran patches Allura up the best he can.

“Look at these,” Pidge says, spinning in the centre of the room, staring up at the walls around them. “This place looks just like your map, Keith.” She’s right. It’s cold, black Galra metal, with faintly glowing purple light and symbols stretching up over the walls.

Keith nods. He turns to Lance, who seems to be fretting over Allura from a few feet back. “What was this? Some kind of Galra structure?”

“Safehouse, actually,” Lance says, stuttering over the syllables, eyes flashing yellow. “We—we—I found it.”

Again, it raises the same question. What was a human android—of such advanced make—doing with Galra? Then again, the same thing could be asked about Shiro.

Hunk and Pidge sequester themselves in a corner, talking in hushed voices. Running over their options, Keith can tell. Thinking out loud at each other. Trying to figure things out, even if it’s just to make themselves feel better.

Keith settles himself down at the open window, staring out at the fringes of the forest. If anyone approaches he’s going to know about it. Red curls against his hand, bright yellow eyes staring into the distance like she’s keeping watch too.

Tactically, it’s not a bad place. He can see someone coming from almost any direction; nobody will be coming from behind anyway, if Lance’s warnings about a toxic swamp are anything to go by. Keith will be the first to know if anything comes out of the woods. If Shiro comes out of the woods.

He watches, fingers tapping on the windowsill. The edges of the forest are still, unmoving. No mysterious, shadowy figures flicker within.

It’s too quiet. Keith can’t stop thinking.

“So, pirates, huh?” Lance settles into place beside him, collapsing with his back against the windowframe, one long leg dangling outside. “Galra pirates? _Man_ , you would not believe the shit I’ve had to deal with from pirates.”

Keith picks at the edges of the wrappings around his dagger. “I think I can guess.”

“Pssh, yeah right, dude.” Lance waves a hand in the air, dismissive and infuriating. “There was this one—well, I guess he wasn’t really a pirate. Always wanting everyone to call him _Emperor_ . Like, buddy, way to be full of yourself!” Keith’s eyes flash to Lance, but he’s not even looking, just staring off into the distance. “And he was so _angry_ all the time—”

“Emperor Zarkon?”

“Yeah, that’s it!” Lance snaps his fingers, grinning down at Keith. “Emperor Zarkon!”

“You knew Emperor Zarkon.”

“Well we weren’t friends or anything. But yeah, I was on his ship. Like—like a personal assistant!” Lance hums, shimmying his leg. “I spent a lot more time with this one guy—what was his name? I think he was the guy that made me, b-but I don’t—don’t—I don’t remember.”

“Why did the Galra have a human android?”

Lance rolls his eyes, like the answer is obvious. “Well, _duh_. Turning Galra into machines always makes them monsters.” He waves his hand. “Something about the quintessence, or something, I dunno.”

Something clicks into place, just out of Keith’s perception. Something he suddenly understands, but he doesn’t know it. “Were you human once?”

Lance’s fingers twitch, yellow flickering in his eyes. “I—I was—I—I—I—”

Keith smacks him. “Nevermind.” The regular colour blinks back into Lance’s eyes and he stares at Keith, completely oblivious. “You were Zarkon’s android, right? So you know about the treasure?”

Lance blinks. “Uh . . . treasure?”

“Zarkon’s Fortune.”

“ _Oh_!” Lance leans forward, blinking rapidly, yellow flashing in his eyes. “I—I r-r-remember something. There was—there was treasure! B-b-buried in the centre of the mech—mech—mechanism!” His hand closes around Keith’s wrist, digging into bruises, but Keith doesn’t feel it. “And the door—opening and closing and opening and closing—and Emperor Zarkon said it was meant for the Champion—only the Champion—so I—” Lance goes still, entire body twitching, eyes flashing yellow and bright Galra purple. “D-data inaccessible DATA INACCESSIBLE—”

“Lance!” Keith punches him in the face. His knuckles sting against the metal beneath Lance’s synthetic skin but he ignores it, shaking Lance’s shoulders until the yellow in his eyes fizzes away. “What do you mean? What about—” He swallows. “What about the Champion?”

“Huh?” Lance gives him a weird look. “Did you hit your head?”

“Did you?”

Lance laughs, tinny and metallic. “ _Oooh_. No, I just have a bad memory.” He puts a hand on the back of his neck. “I lost my primary memory unit.”

The microchip missing at the back of Lance’s neck. That’s his memory. And of course, it’s gone. Keith curses under his breath, gripping the hilt of his dagger. Figures. “Go talk to Pidge and Hunk,” he says, scowling at the late afternoon light glowing gold and pink on the trees. “See if they can help you.”

“Sure, they’re probably better company than _you_.”

Keith bristles, but forces himself not to rise to it. No time, no _time_ for that bullshit. He needs to keep watch, make sure the pirates don’t find them. Especially since they have the map now; there’s no reason for any of them to be kept alive anymore. Now they’re dangerous. Now they’re a liability. And Shiro—

“Keith?” He startles, glancing over his shoulder. Allura’s staring at him, her eyes hard. “A word, please.”

He nods. Coran puts a hand on his shoulder as they pass each other, Coran heading to take his place on watch. Keith kneels next to Allura where she’s sitting, her back supported by a strange pillow. She looks—better, marginally. Pink stains her bandages, but the bleeding seems to have slowed.

“What is it, Captain?”

Allura shakes her head. “Please. Call me Allura.” Her voice is faint, but still commanding. “I owe you an apology, Keith.”

Keith blinks. “You don’t have to,” he says. “Tell me later.” He’s not interested in dying words. They’re getting Allura out of this.

To his surprise, Allura laughs, a twinkling little chuckle that makes her eyes seem softer. “Oh, no, that’s not what this is about. I told you, I’m fine.” She puts a hand on his knee. “I want to apologize. I haven’t treated you fairly.”

Keith says nothing. He’s not going to dispute it, but he doesn’t want to argue with her.

“I wish to tell you something.” Allura takes a deep breath, a flicker of pain flashing in her eyes. “I . . . lost my father, as well.” Again, Keith says nothing. Platitudes don’t bring anyone back from the dead. “I was a child. The Galra Empire had long since been destroyed but pockets of resistance remained, as with all wars. Nothing is ever so simple as to end so quickly.”

Keith nods. He puts his hand over Allura’s. Her skin is cold, sticky with dried pink blood.

“My father, he was a Commander in the Altean Navy. He fought against that resistance. He was a hero.” Her face twists, whether in pain or remembrance Keith can’t tell. “But one day, he was ambushed. Galra killed him.”

Keith nods again. Squeezes his fingers around Allura’s.

She laughs, just a little, dry and humourless. “I thought you a naive child, when you tried to tell me not all Galra were bad. You couldn’t possibly have been through what I went through. You couldn’t have experienced the pain I had.” Her eyes flutter shut. “But we’re quite alike, you and I.”

“Yeah.” Keith squeezes her hand, picking it up and cradling it in both of his. “I understand.”

Allura’s eyes snap open. “That doesn’t excuse my behaviour,” she says, decisive. “I treated you terribly for a grudge that didn’t even involve you. I insulted your family simply for being Galra.”

Keith remembers Thace’s face, and it stings. “Some of them were victims, too,” he says, as softly as he can.

Allura nods. “I’ve been seeing everything in black and white. But I refuse to be so childish.” She brings her other hand up to curl it around Keith’s, and for a moment they just sit there with their hands clasped. “Thank you, Keith. I hope we can be friends.”

“I’d like that.”

On the other side of the room, the idle chatter Lance has been having with Pidge and Hunk suddenly goes quiet. Keith turns to see Lance standing, his eyes bright yellow—but it doesn’t look like he’s malfunctioning. He’s walking, _marching_ to the back of his makeshift house, fishing something out of the clutter.

A sniper rifle. Sleek and black, clearly Galra make.

Hunk clears his throat. “Uh, Lance? You okay, man?”

Lance isn’t listening. Keith follows him to the open window, where he kneels, settles the rifle to rest on the windowsill. What the hell? Lance peers through the scope and Keith’s about to ask what he’s doing when Lance’s fingers are suddenly on the trigger.

A shot rings out through the air.


	15. everything you love will burn up in the light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Make Me Wanna Die - The Pretty Reckless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=txBfhpm1jI0&ab_channel=PrettyRecklessVEVO).

Lance’s gunshot echoes in the air. Distantly, Keith hears a shout from the edge of the forest.

Figures emerge from the shadows. Tall and dark until they step into the waning golden light. Shiro, standing tall, broad shoulders and his shock of white hair obvious even from a distance.

Lance pulls the bolt back. Aims. His finger is steady on the trigger and Keith can see everything like it’s in slow motion. Lance is going to—

He puts a hand on Lance’s shoulder, tugging him back. “Wait.”

He shouldn’t have done that. The pirates could kill them. Probably want to kill them. Shiro’s dangerous, he’s a pirate, he’s the Galra cyborg, the Champion, he _doesn’t care_. He needs to die. It’d be so simple, letting Lance put a bullet through his head.

Keith’s heart stutters.

“Stop walking,” he calls down to them. It’s only a few members of the crew, Sendak included. Guess Lance didn’t shoot him, then. Least there’s still a chance it was Haggar. “Or we’ll shoot.”

Shiro puts both hands in the air. He’s close enough now that Keith can see his expression, see the half-smile on his face. He’s trying to seem non-threatening. Trying to be approachable. “I just wanna talk, Keith. That’s it.”

Behind Keith, Allura snorts. “Obviously he’s come to bargain for the map,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

Red chitters against Keith’s collar. He blinks. “He doesn’t know it’s on the ship.” He glances at Shiro, then back at the rest of them. “I’m gonna go out there. He won’t shoot as long as he thinks I have the map.”

Hunk’s eyes go wide. “Keith, wait—”

“Lance.” Yellow eyes meet his, hard and serious. “If he kills me, shoot them all.”

Lance nods, and Keith hops easily over the windowsill.

Shiro meets him halfway, heading up the hill Lance’s house is sitting on, leaving the rest of his crew behind. There’s a catch to his step. A slight limp, barely noticeable but still there. Keith put that there. He feels pride and distress in equal measure, a complicated mixture that makes his chest ache.

When they’re a couple metres apart Keith stops, crossing his arms over his chest. Red purrs and trills and floats through the air, pressing against Shiro’s chin, rubbing along it like a cat.

“Hey, Red,” Shiro says with a soft smile, sitting down on a nearby rock. He scratches a finger along her back. Mismatched eyes flicker up to Keith’s, a spark of something shared. He’s still trying to be non-threatening. Making himself smaller than Keith despite their vast difference in size, someone not to be feared. Keith doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but glare. “Hey there, Keith.”

“Shiro.”

A sigh slips out of Shiro’s mouth. His shoulders droop, eyes dropping down to his feet. His ankle is still sparking, though the worst of the damage seems to have been hastily repaired. “It doesn’t need to be like this, Keith.” He looks up at Keith, sincere. _Fake_. “Anything you heard, you know it’s not true.” He puts his hand to his chest. The Galra hand. “You aren’t just some kid, Keith. I had to say that, or Haggar would never have let it go.”

He sounds so sincere. Almost like he really believes what he’s saying. But Keith knows better. No second chances. He’s been burned once, he’s not gonna hand Shiro the matches again.

So he says nothing, only glares at Shiro.

“Alright. I didn’t want it to come to this, Keith, but you’ve left me no choice.” In one slow, slightly shaky movement Shiro stands, Red bobbing in the air next to his head. Keith squashes down the feeling of intimidation. “We can still make a deal, here. If you give us the map and surrender, we won’t have to hurt you.” A grin quirks his mouth, like they’re sharing some inside joke. “We’ll even make sure the brig is nice and comfy for the trip back home.”

Keith blinks at him. Digs his fingers into his arm.

Another sigh. “It’s a good deal, Keith.” Something sparks in his Galra eye. “You’re a smart kid, you know. There’s still a way for you to make something out of this.” His smile softens. “A way for you to pay back Matron Ingrid.”

Keith can’t stop his face from twitching. Shiro knows so much about him, knows his weak points so easily. “That right?”

The grin stretches wider on Shiro’s face. “Of course. If you cooperate, I swear, you can still get an equal portion of the treasure.”

Keith sneers. “If I cooperate. If I do exactly as you say, is that it?” He sticks out his chin, curling his hands into fists at his sides. “Just keep doing what you want until you get the chance to play me again, huh?” With a smile that’s half a snarl he marches over to Shiro, leaning up into his face. “You won’t be seeing a penny of _my_ treasure, and that’s a promise.”

For a second Shiro does nothing but stare at him, eyes wide, jaw tight, the broad line of his shoulders trembling. Both his eyes flash yellow, brighter than any sun—and then his Galra hand is around Keith’s neck.

Keith chokes, scrabbling at the metal. It’s hot, glowing with energy, scorching against the skin of his neck. The toes of his boots scrape on the ground below. He can’t breathe, shit, he can’t breathe, Shiro’s eyes are yellow and hard and _empty_ —

The hand’s gone and Keith crumples, landing hard on his knees. He chokes on a gasp of air, one hand twitching near his throat.

“That treasure is _mine_ ,” Shiro hisses above him. Keith looks up and Shiro’s so tall above him, so impossibly imposing. His eyes have returned to normal. “It is _owed_ to me. It was _promised_.”

Keith coughs. “As Champion,” he manages, his voice rough.

Shiro’s look is thunderous. “You have until tomorrow,” he says. There’s nothing in his voice. “Until dawn. If I don’t have _my_ map by then, I’ll use the ship’s cannons on your new little home.” His eyes flicker to Keith’s shoulder. “Red, come.”

Red whimpers, pressing against Keith’s cheek.

“Red!”

She ducks into the collar of Keith’s jacket. Her soft red fur is soothing against the burning bruises on his throat.

“Fine.” Shiro glares at Keith. “Tomorrow at dawn, Kogane. Don’t be late.”

Keith says nothing. There’s nothing to say.

For a second longer, Shiro stares down at him. Then he turns, walking away, broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the dark backdrop of the forest. He’s leaving, for the last time. It’s final. The last connection between them severing.

Everyone is staring at Keith when he heads back into Lance’s home.

“We have until tomorrow to give them the map,” he says, nimbly leaping over the windowsill and heading over to take a quick glance at Allura’s wounds.

Allura frowns. “The map we don’t have.”

“Uh, that’s _bad_ , guys,” Hunk says, hands twisting together. “If we don’t have the map we can’t give it to them, and if we don’t give it to them they’re probably gonna kill us. Oh, man, they’re _definitely_ gonna kill us, and it’s not like we can go anywhere without them seeing, this thing is in the middle of nowhere—”

“Hunk.” Hunk’s mouth snaps shut and Keith huffs out a sigh, running a hand back through his messy hair. “We’ll figure something out.” They’ve got about twelve hours to do it, assuming this planet runs similar enough to standard time. Seems to, if Keith’s counting is anything to go by. “We aren’t getting killed.”

“You don’t know that,” Hunk snaps, his eyes narrowing. “I _told_ you guys this was dangerous, I _said_ we should think it over more!”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Pidge scrubs her eyes with her fists, scowling up at Hunk. “You agreed to come along!”

“To take care of you, yeah, not to get killed by pirates!” Hunk gestures out the window. “Pirates, Pidge!”

“Hey!” Both of them whirl towards Keith, eyes wide as he stares them both down. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, or who said what. You can argue about that when we’re safe.” He turns away from them, pacing back and forth, peeling at the wrappings on his dagger. “What matters is that we figure a way out of this.”

He slips his dagger back into the sheath on his belt. It’s distracting him right now, tugging at the back of his mind. Probably some kind of anxiety response. Keith ignores it.

“We need that map,” Allura says decisively, sitting up with barely a wince. “We mustn’t let it fall into their hands.”

Keith nods. “If we can figure out a way out of here, I can head up to the ship and get it. I know exactly where it is.” He crosses his arms, staring out the window. The pirates have all but disappeared into the fringes of the forest but they seem to be setting up camp. Keeping watch. Great. “Gonna be hard with them watching our every move.”

“I mean, you could always take the back door.”

Keith glances at Lance. “What?”

Lance shrugs, loping over to a patch of the floor. He kicks away what looks like a dusty, moth-eaten rug to reveal a wide circular hatch. “Yeah, I use it when it’s raining.” He rolls his eyes, wiggling his fingers. “It’s a bitch when water gets into my joints.”

Keith doesn’t bother asking _how_ water can get past Lance’s synthetic skin. Instead he marches over to the door, gesturing behind him. “Hunk, gimme a hand with this.”

“Sure thing.”

Together the two of them lift the hatch. It’s solid metal and Keith grunts, the muscles in his back straining from the effort of lifting it. Eventually they swing it open and it props itself open. Good. No loud bang of it slamming down.

“Holy . . .”

Keith peers down through the hatch and his breathing stutters. Below is a seemingly endless drop, so far down it disappears into fog. Pipes and conduits and everything mechanical extends down into the fog, twisting and curving around itself like some impossible maze of circuitry.

“Holy shit!” Suddenly Pidge is right there at the edge, leaning over to stare down at the machinery below. “What is all that? It’s amazing!”

Keith glances at Lance but the guy just shrugs. “You mean the machinery that runs throughout the entire core of the planet? I’unno.”

Great. Just great. Well, it looks like there are walkways stretching below heading in various directions, so it’ll be useful.

He turns back to Lance. “Is there any way this,” he points down, “can get us anywhere near the pirates’ lifeboat?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Of course it can. This baby’s got openings _everywhere_.” He waves a hand. “That’s how I found _you_. I saw you guys crash and then I just went in the direction of all the smoke, it’s _way_ faster than trekking through the jungle. That humidity is so bad for my skin.”

“Aside from the skin thing, I totally agree,” Pidge says, staring down at the inner core of the planet with wonder lighting up her pale eyes. “This is amazing! Oh my gosh, I wonder if they put this stuff in here or if they built the entire planet from the core up?”

Keith steps back, hands itching for his dagger again. “Okay. Nightfall, Lance and I will go get the map.”

A shocked little gasp punches out of Pidge’s mouth. “What? Why you two?” Her eyes narrow. “I want to go down there too, Keith.”

He bites back a frustrated growl. “I know, but we have to be stealthy. Lance knows the tunnels, and I know where the map is. Anything else is—” Extra weight. Collateral. Keith swallows. “Too dangerous.” They already lost one Holt. Keith’s not losing another one. “You and Hunk need to stay here, maybe see if you can make sense of any of these symbols. They might help us figure this place out. Red’ll stay with you.”

Red chirps, morphing rapidly between a lion, a blob of red goo, and the smooth black sphere of the map. Her bright yellow eyes seem almost offended, like she doesn’t want to be left behind anymore than Pidge does.

Keith’s never thought of himself as much of a leader, but with Allura indisposed someone needs to step up.

Pidge swallows, her chin jutted out, but she nods. “Fine.”

With that Keith lets out a long, painful sigh. He heads back to the window, sitting on the sill with his back against the frame. Gives him the perfect vantage point to see the faint, flickering fire the pirates have set up at the edge of the forest.

Now it’s just time to wait.


	16. who's the first to burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Black Sea - Natasha Blume](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8DFh-JmiS0&ab_channel=Equilanora).

Despite being overly talkative, Lance is quick and efficient at leading Keith through the underground tunnels. “I’ve been wandering here for years, man,” he says, dismissive when Keith brings it up. “I know these tunnels better than anyone. Better than her, even.”

Lance keeps bringing up a ‘her’. “Who is she?”

“Huh?” Lance glances back over his shoulder. “Oh, she’s just a Galra pirate. We don’t talk much. She’s the only one left here.”

So there’s an actual pirate here. Presumably one who was part of Zarkon’s crew. Keith bristles, fingers twitching towards his dagger. Another thing to keep an eye out for. Though if she hasn’t approached them yet, she might not even know they’re here.

“This should be right next to their campsite,” Lance says suddenly, pointing at a smaller hatch above their heads. There’s an old, metal ladder leading up to it. “So, what’s the plan here? Are we gonna go in guns blazing, kick all their asses? Teach them who’s boss?”

Keith sighs. “We’re going to sneak past them, get onto the ship, grab the map, and disable the laser cannons.”

“Oh.” Lance frowns, hunches his shoulders like a little kid. “That’s cool too, I guess.”

With a groan, Keith heads up the ladder and pushes open the hatch. “Just shut up and follow me.”

Their campfire is dwindling, barely more than a few sparks and embers in the heavy humidity. There’s still enough light to see the pirates; a half-dozen of them, sprawled in various positions among the gnarled roots of the trees. Shiro’s there too, resting flat on his back, hands clasped on his chest in front of him.

He looks peaceful when he’s sleeping, the angles of his face softened.

Keith shakes his head, easily pulling himself up from the hatch. Lance follows behind, luckily silent. Apparently he took Keith’s orders to heart. Easier than having to deal with him talking.

Shit. Shiro’s sleeping closest to the tether of the lifeboat. He’s asleep but Keith doesn’t know how light of a sleeper he is, doesn’t know how easy it’ll be to wake him.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, keeping to the fringes of the makeshift campsite. Easier to hide in the shadows that way if someone happens to wake up. He makes it the entire way to the lifeboat without making a sound, already climbing up the rope tethering it to a particularly thick root.

A branch cracks. Lance freezes, blinks, eyes flashing yellow and flickering around the campsite.

Shiro murmurs. Shifts his shoulders, scrunches his face. Keith waits, breath caught in his throat, but Shiro’s eyes never open. He didn’t wake up.

Keith’s gonna _kill_ Lance once they’re back on safe, solid ground.

The trip up to the ship is silent and uneasy. Lance’s eyes are wide and bright, shining with starlight as he stares out over the edge of the lifeboat. His fingers grip the edge tight but he doesn’t seem scared. It’s more like disbelief.

He’s like a kid on his first trip beyond atmo. When they begin to see the curvature of the planet Lance actually gasps, soft and gentle, leaning so far Keith’s hand twitches. He looks—wondrous is the best word Keith can think of. Amazed and awed, and if Keith looks close enough he can see tears gathered at the corners of Lance’s eyes.

How long has he been stuck here?

When they reach the COL Voltron it seems quiet and still, bathed in dim starlight. They climb aboard the ship with ease, Keith landing on the deck swiftly and silently, Lance managing the same beside him.

“You stay here and guard the boat while I go get the map,” Keith says, his voice low.

Lance nods. “Disable the cannons. Got it.”

“Lance—!” But he’s already gone, sprinting silently across the length of the ship, down the steps leading into the engine room. “Dammit.” Alright, now Keith’s gotta do this quick, make sure Lance doesn’t get into any trouble.

Keith heads to the opposite end of the ship, heading down the stairs into the cargo deck. Nobody seems to be around, at least. It’s quiet, a forced quiet that makes Keith’s head hurt from the pressure of it. He ignores it, heading through the door into the docking bay. The same coil of rope is still bundled in the exact same position.

He kneels next to it, shifting the rope aside. Cold black metal gleams at him. A sigh heaves itself out of Keith’s chest, heavy with relief. It feels better having it back. Feels right.

He pockets it—and then an alarm blares through the ship, ringing in his ears. “What the hell?” What trouble is Lance getting himself into? Shit, they need to get moving _now_ , fuck the cannons. They’ll deal with that problem later once they’re on the ground.

Keith jumps up, heading through the mangled side door into the mechanical underbelly of the ship. It’ll be easier to get to Lance that way and he won’t have to go up on deck, where any pirates left on the ship are probably already swarming.

“Cabin boy.”

Keith whirls around but there’s nobody behind him, nothing but a hiss of black smoke. He grabs his knife, curls his fingers tight around the hilt of it. Haggar’s got tricks but Keith’s clever, he knows how to fight. She’s not silent when she moves and he listens, ears straining for any hint of movement.

A hiss behind him—Keith spins, dagger outstretched. Haggar steps back just in time but he’s got the dagger to her throat, pressing against her violet skin. He can end this—

Pure black. Like Keith’s suddenly gone blind. What the fuck is Lance doing?

Dim red lights flash back on and Haggar is gone.

Keith spins, looking around, but the narrow corridor he’s in is empty. Shit, _shit_ , where’d she go? He tightens his grip on his dagger, holds it in front of him protectively. She could be anywhere, he doesn’t even know how powerful she is. What she’s capable of. What he’s seen is enough to know she’s _dangerous_.

Lightning strikes his spine and Keith screams, back arching, muscles convulsing. Pain courses through his body like bitter electricity and he crumples to his knees. His hands are twitching, shoulders shaking.

“You should have remembered your place,” Haggar says, her voice a wisp floating around Keith’s head. From a whirling maelstrom of black smoke two hands emerge, clutching the collar of Keith’s jacket.

Then they’re on deck, Haggar’s eyes glowing bright yellow in the darkness. She tightens her grip on him then swings him, tossing him across deck like he weighs nothing. Keith’s back hits something—the mast?—and all he feels is pain, sharp and aching throughout his entire body. Another jolt crashes through his body as he hits the floor.

Haggar flashes closer like she’s going to grab him again. Before she can there’s a buzz, then the gravity shifts. Then it’s gone, both of them floating up.

The scream that tears itself out of Haggar’s throat is unearthly, piercing Keith’s eardrums. She curls a hand around the rigging, long white hair floating out from her hood in a stringy cloud. She looks monstrous, her eyes glowing brighter than ever, mouth open in a snarl.

Keith grabs for the mast, for anything—but Haggar reaches out and hits him. His body spins, flying up into the air, black and white and black and white flashing across his vision. Shit, fuck, he needs to grab something or he’s gone, he’ll float off into space.

His flailing hands hit something soft and insubstantial but Keith grabs it anyway, twisting his fingers in the fabric. It’s the ship’s flag, held there only by a single rope.

Haggar screams again, still clinging to the rigging. “ _Die_!” Black electricity crackles in her free hand, arcing up her arm. She extends her hand, fingers twitching, and lightning shoots straight for Keith.

Instinctively he brings up his dagger like a shield, like he can block her blow. And—it works. The lightning absorbs into the blade and Keith’s hand twitches. He can feel it, like a lingering mild electric shock.

“ _NO_!” More electricity crackles along her entire body and Keith notices something. She’s not teleporting. She’s not below-deck somewhere. Her hand is tight around the rigging, the skirt of her robe fluttering around her free-floating legs. She _can’t_ teleport. Maybe it’s something to do with the lack of gravity, maybe it’s something else, but it doesn’t matter.

This is Keith’s chance. He sheathes his dagger and scrambles down the flag, getting a good grip on the mast. Haggar’s still crackling with magic lightning but Keith’s faster than her. He climbs down the mast like the trees he used to climb with Matt, reaches Haggar before she can unleash her magic.

“This is for Matt,” he snarls. Then he launches himself at her, grappling with her for only a second before kicking her away.

Haggar shrieks, scrambling and flailing as she floats into space, bursting with electricity as dark as the starry void behind her. It explodes in Keith’s head and he shouts, curling against the rigging with a hand over his ear to block out the piercing screams.

Finally, the screaming fades.

There’s a buzz as gravity returns and Keith slumps against the rigging, sweat dripping from his forehead. He puts his hand on the hilt of his dagger just to feel it on his skin.

“Hey, Keith!” Keith glances down and there’s Lance, climbing up the stairs, something silver glinting on his skin that Keith can’t quite see. “Laser cannons are disabled. You’re welcome.”

Keith groans, but hops off the rigging down onto the deck. “Let’s get off this ship.” Being back here makes him think of blisters on his hands and heated barbs traded over hard work, and Keith’s never been one for reminiscing. “We can take the lifeboat back to your place.” It’ll definitely make transporting Allura a lot easier.

When they’re back in the lifeboat, Keith directing them on a quick but leisurely descent, he finally takes a closer look at Lance. He’s staring at the sky again, elbows resting on the lip of the boat. Glinting silver catches Keith’s eye and he finally sees the source; some of Lance’s skin has been scraped away, showing metal hidden beneath. It’s the colour of Shiro’s cyborg limbs.

“Hey,” he says, catching Lance’s attention. Keith nods at the scrapes. “You okay?”

“Huh?” For the first time Lance actually seems to notice the marks. He makes a face at them, unsubtly bringing his hands up to cover his arms. “Oh, that’s nothing. It’ll fix itself in no time.”

The rest of the trip down is silent.


	17. you're the face of the future, the blood in my veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Believer - Imagine Dragons](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhP3J0j9JmY&ab_channel=ImagineDragonsVEVO).

Lance’s home is dark when Keith brings to lifeboat to a silent stop outside it. That doesn’t seem right. Keith glances over his shoulder but Shiro’s campfire is still flickering at the edge of the forest, a bright spot against the darkness. So . . . did the rest of them go somewhere? Did they have to hide in the tunnels?

Worry creeps up inside him, bitter at the back of his throat. Did they run into some other kind of trouble? Lance said there was another Galra on the planet—one of Zarkon’s old crew. Maybe she found them and decided to deal with them—

There’s no point in speculating until he’s got all the information. Keith hops over the windowsill, dropping down silently. “Hello?” His voice echoes in the silence. “Allura? Pidge? Hunk?”

No response. Keith narrows his eyes but he can’t see anything in the darkness. Lance’s hand curls in the back of his shirt, pressing close to his side. “This doesn’t feel right,” Lance whispers, his voice echoing in the silence.

Keith agrees. “Guys? Allura, Coran, are you here?” He tucks his hand in his pocket, brushes against the cold metal of the map. It’s soothing to touch even now. “We have the map.”

Metal clicks and a single spot of yellow flickers to life in the darkness.

“Is that so.” Shiro steps out into the dim light from the window, Galra eye glowing violently. He holds out a hand—the Galra hand—dipping his head in expectation. “Hand it over, Kogane.” The smile on Shiro’s face is dangerous, terrifying.

Keith swallows down his fear. There’s a struggle beside him as someone grabs Lance. Keith glances around, finally seeing the rest of the crew as they’re brought into the light. They’re all tied up, gags over their mouths to keep them from shouting. Keith can already see bruises blooming on Pidge’s pale skin, her glasses cracked, and rage wells up in him.

“Let them go,” he snarls, shoving his hand in his pocket to curl around the map. “I’m not giving you the map.”

Shiro smiles. “Not even for their lives?”

Allura shouts behind the gag. Her eyes are wide and bright, a hard decision in her eyes when she looks at Keith. He nods. “You aren’t getting the map.” It hurts his chest to say it. But if Shiro got the treasure—if the Galra Empire came back . . .

Shiro’s brows shoot up. “Wow, Keith. All this over a bit of treasure, huh.” He sneers. “But you’re only thinking of yourself, aren’t you.”

Ignore it, _ignore it_. Shiro’s words mean nothing. Shiro’s opinion means nothing.

Keith fingers itch for his dagger. He can’t give himself away yet, he doesn’t have an opening. There are six Galra all twice his size, tall and thick with muscles. Keith’s fought people bigger than him, used to get into tough fights all the time at school. But these are pirates. Pirates—and Shiro.

Suddenly Shiro’s eyes widen. He’s staring at a point beyond Keith, behind him. Keith turns.

There’s a figure in the window. They’re tall and slender, nothing but a silhouette against the starry night. A featureless black helmet obscures their face, black armour covering their body. They’ve got a blade on their back, and Keith’s immediately wary. This is someone new. An unknown variable.

The stranger inclines their head, like an animal staring at its prey.

In a blur of movement they attack. Keith can barely even blink before the first Galra is on the floor. The stranger takes every single one out with ease, like a trained soldier—like some kind of assassin, faster and stronger than anything Keith has ever seen.

The stranger knocks Shiro on his ass before he can even react. With a flash of black and glowing purple the blade is at Shiro’s throat, and his eyes—they’re wide, haunted, like he’s seeing something that isn’t there. Like what happened back at the outpost.

“ _Wait_!” The scream rips out of Keith’s throat. He can barely breathe, his heart’s beating too hard.

The stranger’s head turns sharply, staring at Keith from behind that impenetrable mask.

Then Keith’s being tossed through the window and into the lifeboat like he weighs nothing. The stranger jumps in right after, and before Keith can even try to scramble out the lifeboat accelerates and throws him down.

He pushes himself up, straining against the force pushing him down to the floor of the boat. “Who the hell are you?”

No answer.

“Where are you taking me?”

The stranger glances at him, then away.

Not gonna say anything, then. Keith’s hand inches toward his dagger but he doesn’t grab it, not yet. Whoever this person is, they’re a hell of a lot more dangerous than anything else on this planet.

When the lifeboat slows to a stop, Keith finally sits up. They’re not even near the forest anymore. Stretching up above them are tall, white cliffs, seemingly for miles, covered in what looks like creeping vines. Reminds Keith a little of the canyon where he went on joyrides.

The stranger hops nimbly out of the lifeboat, landing like a cat. They stare at Keith until he follows, turning and heading towards one of the many crevices scattering the surface of the cliff.

“What’s going on,” Keith hisses, stopping a good few feet away and crossing his arms. “Who are you? Why are you here, and what do you want with me?” He narrows his eyes when the stranger only cocks their head. “Answer me!”

A swift shake of the head. Then the stranger’s slipping through the crevice, disappearing behind jagged white rocks. Dammit. Keith growls, stalking forward to the crevice. Only one way to get answers, and apparently that’s cooperating.

Beyond the crevice is a cave, way bigger than Keith would’ve expected from the outside. It’s almost bare, only a few furnishings; a metal bed, a strange desk. From further inside, Keith can hear water splashing, and apparently it’s wet enough in here for bioluminescent mushrooms to grow along the ceiling.

But it’s the far wall that catches his attention. Keith drifts towards it, staring at it with shallow breathing. It—it looks like a scrapboard, the entire stone wall covered in what looks like blueprints and scribbled drawings and star charts. Plans for something. The stranger’s trying to figure something out. Keith glances at it a second longer, and it clicks. Looking for a way off the planet. A way to escape, or a way to call someone here for help.

He turns back to the stranger just as they’re tugging the sleek black helmet off their head.

It’s a Galra. A Galra woman. A long, pale violet braid tumbles down her back, fluffy cat-like ears springing up from the shaved sides of her head. Her face is long, slender; her skin a pale purple, her eyes narrow and glowing a soft yellow as she stares back at Keith.

She must be the Galra woman Lance mentioned. There’s a weird tugging at the back of Keith’s head.

“I am Oryka,” she says, her voice sharp.

“Why’d you bring me here?”

Oryka shakes her head, dismissing him. “The key.” She stalks forward, moving like a cat. She towers over Keith, a good foot taller than him at least, and Keith barely even notices she’s reaching into his pocket until the map is in her hands.

“Hey!” He takes a half-step forward and Oryka lifts her hand, eyes focused on the map. “Give it back.”

“It has been opened.” She narrows her eyes, gloved fingers slipping over the sleek surface. The map starts to glow, then bursts into light as the three dimensional star chart fills the room. Oryka doesn’t even seem to care. Her eyes are back on Keith. “Who opened it for you, human?”

“What?”

She jerks her head to where the map is floating in the air. “The map. Who accessed it for you?” Her head dips to the side, something sharp and vicious passing over her eyes. “Was it—no, it couldn’t have been Zarkon’s Champion.”

It’s like a punch to the gut. _Zarkon’s_ Champion. Shiro’s not just a pirate, not just a liar and a thief and a Galra cyborg. He’s Zarkon’s Champion. Whatever that means.

Keith staggers, bile rising in his throat. “Shiro is . . .”

Oryka stares at him, keen-eyed. “He is Shiro to you, then. He is Champion to me.” Then she shakes her head, thin nose scrunching. “No, that doesn’t matter. Human, who accessed the key? Has the Champion been given Purity somehow?”

Nothing she’s saying is making any sense. It clicks in Keith’s brain in a way he can’t explain, like there’s significance he should know but he’s forgotten. “Shiro didn’t open it,” he says, swallows the hard lump in his throat. “I did.”

Oryka shakes her head. Then she blinks, stares at Keith with her head cocked to the side. First time Keith’s ever really felt like cornered prey.

She moves closer, prowling like a cat. There’s barely half a foot of space between them when she stops, leans down into Keith’s face, light shifting in her yellow eyes as her gaze flickers over his face. Like she’s looking for something. Like Keith has an answer to some question.

“What is your name?” Her voice is softer now. Less harsh.

Keith swallows. “Keith. Keith Kogane.”

Oryka is shaking. It’s barely anything, a fine tremor in her shoulders, in her hands as she lifts them. Her hands curl around Keith’s cheeks and he can’t breathe. There’s significance between them, a pull he can’t put into words yet but that he knows the name for her.

“Keith Kogane,” Oryka says, her voice a hiss. A whisper. “My son.”


	18. we all have our nightmares, even me, my dear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Light In The Hallway - Pentatonix](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlppyBJhLnc&ab_channel=SecondSoundLyrics).

“You are my son,” Oryka says. Like she’s trying to convince herself. Like she doesn’t actually believe it. Keith can understand that. He can’t believe it himself.

“You . . .” His words trail off. What’s he supposed to say here? He looks Oryka up and down, at her slim body and pale violet skin and narrow features, and it doesn’t fit. His mom has always been nothing but stardust. A collection of memories that aren’t his own. “You can’t be.”

Even as he’s saying it, the words don’t taste right on his tongue. There’s a pull between them. Like . . . like he’s back on Earth, drawn to the Galra factories.

Oryka’s ears tremble and twitch. “You are Keith Kogane.” Her brows furrow. “Yes?” Now she sounds hesitant. Insecure.

That . . . that hurts, in a way Keith doesn’t understand. “Yes.”

“You opened the key.”

“You mean the map?” At that Oryka nods, gesturing blindly to the map where it floats in the centre of the room. “Yeah. I opened it. I don’t know how, but I just . . . did it.” It felt natural. Already knowing the answer to a riddle before it’s been asked.

Oryka’s hands are warm against his cheeks. “It is your birthright,” she says, as though it’s something simple. “As it is mine.”

What she’s saying—it can’t be true. It can’t be. But—it feels so right. Everything is slotting into place, everything’s making _sense_ . Keith’s head is spinning but he just. He _knows_. Somehow, he knows. This woman, this Galra woman, is his mother.

Keith swallows. “Dad . . . Dad never told me you were Galra.”

At that, Oryka narrows her eyes. “You are eighteen?” When Keith nods, her fingers press tightly against his cheekbones. “I hadn’t returned. He was meant to tell you.” Her eyes burn into Keith. “Why did he not tell you?”

Suddenly the room feels too small, Oryka feels way too close. Keith feels grief but it’s not his own, it’s a distant echo of what he used to feel. But this is fresh. This is new. How does he even have this conversation? How can he tell her? Everything’s already fucked up, tossed around and turned inside out, nothing is the same and it’s like they’re in some delicate balance. Keith doesn’t want to break it.

But he’s not going to lie to her. “Dad’s gone,” he says. His voice doesn’t waver. “It happened when I was seven.”

Oryka doesn’t break down. She doesn’t start crying, or curl up in grief, the way Keith did. She doesn’t shake her head or scream or refuse to believe it, the way Keith did. Her eyes flicker, and her hands press tighter against Keith’s face. Her cat-like ears twitch.

“Inevitable,” she says with a single nod. Her eyes soften and she leans forward, until her forehead is pressed against Keith’s. She’s soft and Keith leans into it, puts his weight against her as a sigh rumbles out of her chest. “You were alone. I’m sorry.”

Keith feels like he should be mad at her. A few years ago he used to be. He hated her, hated thinking about her, blamed her for everything. It was easier to blame a nameless, faceless woman, a complete stranger, easier than dealing with his shit properly. She was the woman who left him alone, the woman who abandoned him for adventure and stardust, who didn’t even care enough to come back for him when he was lonely.

But he’s just tired. Tired and unsteady, and Oryka’s hands feel stable.

“You were alone too,” he says. “Right?”

Oryka pulls back and nods, her hands falling to Keith’s shoulders. “Yes. Eighteen years.”

She’s been here . . . as long as Keith’s been alive? How is that possible? Dad was always vague about how soon she left but Keith always assumed she stuck around for at least a little while, that she didn’t just pop him out and then leave.

“Why?”

“Redemption.” Oryka shakes her head. “Not quite. Righting past mistakes.” She sighs, ears twitching. “It is a story we don’t have time for.”

Keith gets that. They’re stranded on a dangerous planet and pirates have his friends captive. Not pirates. Zarkon’s Champion. They need to get moving, need to do something and deal with this.

But Keith’s been waiting eighteen years for answers. “Just tell me the short version,” he says.

“I am here because I killed Zarkon.” There’s no pride in her voice. She’s not trying to prove anything. Just stating facts. “Because duty is more important than love.” Her eyes flicker to the side. She turns, steps away, hands slipping from Keith’s shoulders. “Zarkon was once my Emperor. He became my Captain.”

Keith’s eyes widen. “You were part of Zarkon’s crew.”

She’s not looking at him. “Yes. I was lost. I left, and met your father.” She glances at Keith, her eyes bright and earnest. “I met you. I loved you both.”

“But you left. To kill Zarkon.”

Oryka nods. “Duty is more important.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Zarkon had been hiding.” Oryka scowls, showing tiny pointed canines. “Waiting. Watching and listening.” Oryka spins, braid whirling around her as she stalks across the cavern. “A pawn for the Witch. A distraction.”

 _Witch_. It’s familiar. “Haggar?”

Oryka freezes in her pacing. She blinks at Keith, angular face hardening into sharp lines. “Maker of monsters. She plays with lives. She and the Mechanic made the Android.”

“You mean Lance?” Lance was made by _Haggar_?

Oryka hums. “He gave himself a name.” Then she shakes her head, stalks back over to Keith and curls her hands tight around his shoulders. “The Champion was her idea. A false druid.” Her face twists. “A last hope. Another pawn.”

That doesn’t make sense. Whenever Shiro interacted with Haggar it was always him telling _her_ what to do. Him in charge. Her following orders.

Keith huffs, tugs his hands through his hair. It’s so much all at once, so much to digest. A lifetime told in a few minutes. “So, Haggar was the one in charge?”

A single nod. “She was not Pure. She could not lead.” Oryka narrows her eyes. “She played games. The Champion would lead in her stead, as she pulled his strings.” A pained look passes over her face and her fingers dig hard into Keith’s shoulders. “He was only a boy when he was chosen. I did not stop it.”

Only a boy. So that’s what happened to Shiro. Taken away from his colony, away from his family, to serve whatever purpose Haggar had. Did he really forget? Does he have memories of it, of being stolen and repurposed?

Keith shoves all thoughts of Shiro out of his mind. He can’t dwell on that, can’t afford to. Instead he nods, digesting the rest of the information. There’s something sticking out, something he feels like he should understand even though it’d make no sense. “What do you mean, she wasn’t pure?”

Oryka cocks her head at him, eyes flickering to where the map is still floating in the air. “The key. It can only be opened by a Pure Galra.”

“But I’m not Pure Galra. I’m half human.”

She shakes her head. “No. That is not the meaning. We are a subspecies.” Her hand presses over Keith’s chest, palm splayed. “You carry my blood. You are Pure.”

This is all way too much. Keith doesn’t have the time to sit down and digest this. “Okay.” He tugs his hands through his hair. “We gotta get moving.”

Oryka nods. “Your father taught you ships. Together we can leave.”

“What?” Keith shakes his head, taking a half-step back. He doesn’t miss the hurt, confused look that flashes across Oryka’s face. “I meant that we have to go back for my friends. The ones being held captive by Shiro and the others.”

“Too dangerous.” Oryka presses her lips together, fingers twitching at her sides. “The Champion is strong. He has grown since I left. He will have had stronger trainers than me.”

“You . . . trained him?”

Oryka frowns. “Three years. He was not a monster, he was a weapon.”

How young was Shiro, when Haggar found him? How young was he when they gave him Galra limbs and turned him into what he is? Shiro never specified when he got the arm. Never specified _why_.

Shit. Keith shakes his head, dismissing the thought. Not now. “We can deal with Shiro,” he says, hand itching for his dagger. “We don’t even need to fight him. We just need to get everyone else out.” It’s dangerous going back for them, dangerous to give Shiro even a small chance of getting his hands on the map. But there’s no time to think of a better plan.

“The Champion will kill you,” Oryka says, her eyes harsh. “He will kill us all. And Galra will reign.”

“I know that’s a possibility.” He’s considered it a dozen times already. The smart thing would be to leave everyone behind and head back somewhere safe, somewhere Shiro can never get his hands on the map _or_ Zarkon’s Fortune. “But they’re my family. I can’t just leave them without trying.”

For a moment, Oryka just stares at him. She plucks the map from the air, tucks it back into Keith’s pocket. Nods. “Understood. We will return.”

* * *

Lance’s home is still dark when they return. The dim light shining in through the window reveals Pidge, Hunk, Lance, Allura and Coran. All five of them are tied up now, gags over their mouths and blindfolds over their eyes. Nothing else is visible.

“Do not,” Oryka murmurs, curling a hand around Keith’s arm. “Too easy.”

“I know.” Keith pulls out his dagger. Oryka stares at it for a second, something unrecognizable in her eyes. Then she pulls out her own blade, releasing Keith’s arm. “C’mon.”

He hops over the windowsill, Oryka following immediately behind him. Everyone jolts, heads perking up even though they can’t see. Everyone except Allura—she’s shaking her head, fiercely and viciously, saying something muffled by her gag.

There’s a sharp gasp behind him.

Keith whirls around just in time to see Oryka arching her back, eyes wide, face frozen in an expression of pain. Then she crumbles and Keith can see the black electricity still flickering over her body. The black electricity crackling around Shiro’s glowing Galra hand.

Shiro shakes his hand and the glow disappears. “Come on, Keith.” He shakes his head. “I thought you were better than this.”

Keith’s fingers tighten around the hilt of his dagger—and then arms loop around him, wrenching his arms back, dragging him up off the ground until he’s barely standing on his toes. He thrashes but there’s two of them, way stronger, already holding him too tightly.

The grin on Shiro’s face is cold. He approaches slowly, easily. “You know it would’ve been smarter to just leave.”

Keith bares his teeth. “Fuck you.”

But Shiro just leans in, until they’re so close that Keith’s breathing stutters. “You don’t understand because you aren’t listening to me, Keith.” His hand slips into Keith’s pocket, pulls out the map. With his other hand he grabs Keith’s dagger where it’s dangling uselessly from his restrained arms. Keith _feels_ the loss of both. “This treasure is mine by rights, Keith. It belongs to me. The sooner you understand that, the easier this will be for you.”

Keith sneers. “You’ll never get it.”

“Looks like I already have.” Shiro rolls the map between his hands, taking a few steps back from Keith until the pressure on Keith’s chest disappears. “This is the final key.” He taps his fingers on it. Twists his hands over it. Narrows his eyes, flipping the map over and over, looking for some secret.

A dry, angry laugh claws out of Keith’s throat. “You can’t open it.”

Shiro narrows his eyes. “And you can.”

He grins. It feels more like a snarl. “Only someone with Pure Galra blood can open it.”

Keith can feel everyone’s silence. Can feel shock from Pidge and Hunk, a silent horror from Allura. Even Lance makes a strange shout behind his gag. Keith glances at Oryka, still crumpled on the floor, and she’s staring at him with wide eyes.

Mismatched eyes widen. “You—” Shiro turns around. “Oryka. It was you.”

“We’re the only ones here who can open it.” Keith’s just bluffing. He has no idea if any of the pirates on Shiro’s crew are Pure Galra. Judging by the fierce glare Shiro gives him, though, he’s pretty damn sure he’s right. “And neither of us are giving you shit.”

“Captain,” says a voice to Keith’s right. Sendak, one of the pirates holding him. Keith struggles against his grip again but Sendak doesn’t even budge. “We need a Pure Galra to open the map, right?”

Shiro narrows his eyes. “Right.”

“Then we only need one.”

Keith’s stomach drops and he jolts forward, toes of his boots scrabbling against the ground. “No!”

Oryka struggles to lift herself. “Do not,” she snarls, baring her teeth at Shiro as he stares at her. “Touch him and you will die, Champion. You will not see that treasure.” Her eyes blaze. “This world will _burn_.”

Shiro tosses the map between his hands. “You’re in no position to make demands, Oryka.” His voice is hard, cold. He takes a step towards her, his hand flickering to life. No, _no_. Keith’s throat closes, his heart stutters. He barely knows her but he can’t lose her, there’s so much they need to say. “But I wasn’t planning on killing him. You’re a lot more dangerous than he is.”

“Shiro.” It’s a plea. Shiro must be able to hear that. He stops, doesn’t look at Keith, but his shoulders tense. “Don’t.” Keith swallows. Goes limp in the hold of the pirates. “Please.”

He can’t see Shiro’s face. He can’t see what Shiro’s thinking, but then Shiro turns, presenting the map to Keith. His face is blank, his eyes hard. “Fine.” He makes a tiny motion with his free hand. Two pirates suddenly grab Oryka, hauling her to her feet. One presses a blade to her throat and Keith jolts. “She’ll be your incentive. Open it.”

Oryka shakes her head. But the movement is slow, sloppy, her eyes fluttering as she tries to keep them open. And Keith just. He can’t give up on this. He can’t lose her. She’s the only piece of his past he has left.

“Okay,” he says, and the pirates drop him to his feet with heavy hands on his shoulders.

Keith grabs the map, taking care not to touch Shiro’s hand as he does. In a few simple presses and swipes and spins the map is glowing, bright violet light bursting from the seams. It curves up in a stream, forming the shape of a planet with two crossing rings. Zarkon’s Fortune.

“Would you look at that,” Shiro says, awe in his voice. “It’s actually real.”

There’s a chirp in Keith’s ear. His eyes flicker over to see Red settling down gently on his shoulder, her yellow eyes big and bright as she stares up at the map. She must’ve been hiding this whole time. It’s nice to have her back.

The brilliant, starry lights dissolve out of the shape of a planet, twisting together into a messy beam. The beam shoots out the window of Lance’s home, curving until it disappears out of sight, pulsing with something Keith can feel deep in his chest as he holds the map in his hands.

Shiro strides towards the window, leans out to stare in the direction of the beam. “That’ll do it.” He makes another gesture. “Tie those two up and leave them with the rest—”

The beam fizzles and dissolves as Keith closes the map.

Shiro turns to glare at him, hand sparking. But Keith’s not scared. He juts out his chin, stands as tall as he can with pirates pushing down on his shoulders. “You’re not going anywhere without me. You want the map, you _need me_.”

Shiro stares at him a second longer. Then he grins, wry and vicious. “Get some restraints for Oryka. We’ll bring all of them.”


	19. the line between a lover and enemy's grown thin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Odi Et Amo - Elizaveta](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwpaCTzATOI&ab_channel=OfWeaponsAndWords).

The pulsing beam of violet light leads them across the wide field surrounding Lance’s house, back into the forest. It goes and goes, until they’re out of the forest and in a vast swamp filled with massive mushrooms sprouting from the bubbling ground below. The sky grows lighter as they go, the faint dawn barely peeking over the horizon.

Keith’s up front, the map cradled in his lap. Shiro sits next to him, arm around his shoulders like they’re on a joyride, like they’re on a _date_. Just behind them sits Lance, restraints and gag removed. At the back of the boat are the rest of the captives, surrounded by Shiro’s crew.

The pulses of the beam start coming faster as they approach another forest. This one looks like bamboo but bigger, stretching up around the boat as they head inside, immediately blocking out any light but the violet of the sky above.

They’re close. Keith can feel that much.

Apparently Shiro knows it too. He lifts a hand and the lifeboat slows to a stop.

“We’re almost there,” he calls, smacking Keith on the shoulder as he hops over the edge of the boat. “Sendak, stay with the prisoners. Everyone else, with me.”

Lance kicks the underside of Keith’s seat. “Good luck, buddy!”

“Android!” Both Lance and Keith turn to look at Shiro. “You too.”

“What? Why me?”

Shiro’s eyes narrow. “You serve the Galra.”

“C’mon.” Keith follows Shiro and the rest of the crew out of the boat. The ground is a little unstable when he lands, mud shifting beneath his feet and splashing up his boots. A thick, heavy fog clings to the ground. Hard to see even a few feet in front of him.

Red chitters and whimpers, climbing into Keith’s collar.

“Shh, girl,” he murmurs, petting along her back. “It’s okay.”

“So,” Lance says, falling into step beside Keith. “You didn’t tell me you knew the Champion.”

“Yeah, well, I do.”

“No, no.” A wide grin stretches across Lance’s face. “You didn’t tell me you _knew_ the Champion.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I mean, I guess if evil is your type . . .”

Keith scowls. “It was a mistake.” He hopes Oryka didn’t hear any of that.

“Hey, I’m not judging!” Lance’s grin widens. “Well, I’m judging a little. Also, I hope we find that treasure soon.” He lifts his feet, mud clinging to his boots. “This place is gross.” His face twists, arms coming up to wrap around his middle. “And your boyfriend is going to kill us.”

“This isn’t over yet.” Keith watches carefully as Shiro moves ahead. “Just wait.”

Suddenly Shiro’s reaching back, grabbing the front of Keith’s shirt and tugging him forwards. “Keep up, Keith,” he says with a mean grin, pressing forward into a thicket of trees. “We’re almost there. You aren’t slipping away from me this time.”

The pirates jibber and cheer, rowdy excitement filling the air as they all push through the trees. The beam pulses bright and constant.

Shiro shoves through, tugging Keith with him. Then he stops.

The beam just . . . ends. At the edge of a barren cliff, overlooking a wide, foggy valley. There’s nothing. No door. No hatch in the ground. No _treasure_.

“ _No_!” Shiro snarls the word, baring his teeth like some wild animal. His hand is still tight in the front of Keith’s shirt and Keith can’t get away, struggles fruitlessly when Shiro’s human eye starts flashing and flickering yellow. “It’s supposed to be here, it’s supposed to be _mine_!” Both eyes are burning yellow when he grabs Keith by the neck, lifts him up until his toes aren’t touching the ground. “ _Where is it_?” His voice sounds different, sounds like an echo, and Keith scratches at the metal hand and gasps for air that won’t come.

Shiro drops him. Keith’s knees hit the ground hard and it hurts more than it should. More than rock.

“Keith!” Lance falls next to him, a steadying hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

Keith waves him off. “I’m fine.” It comes out as a croak.

One of the pirates yells out a curse. “It’s the fucking kid! We can’t trust him to lead us anywhere, he’s fucking with us!” Keith hears a blaster being charged and he whirls around, shoving Lance aside as the pirate aims a gun at him. “You little brat, if you—”

“Get your gun off of him, Camik.” Shiro’s standing above Keith, tall and imposing as he looks down at him. Looks down _on_ him. “Figure this out, Kogane. Or I won’t stop them.”

Keith nods. He turns back over, reaching for the map where it rolled a few feet away. It’s not glowing anymore, the beam of light gone. It’s just sitting on the rocky ground.

Or . . . not. That’s not rock. It’s metal, silvery black and covered with moss and grass. And there are symbols etched in it, symbols that strike a chord in Keith’s mind. And a small dip in the centre of the symbols. A perfect half-sphere.

The pirates are still shouting and Lance is still talking to him but Keith ignores that. He picks up the map. No, not a map. Oryka called it a key. It’s the perfect shape for the dip in the ground.

He presses it in and the entire ground lights up, violet light glowing through the moss. A spherical star map of light floats up from the ground, twinkling. A two-ringed planet sits in the very centre.

Keith pushes back, standing up. He’s about to touch the star map when suddenly the valley below lights up with beams of light, streaming towards their spot on the cliff. They connect and shoot into the air and Keith expects them to keep going until they’re up in space—and then they stop, and a wide triangle swings out from the centre of the beam.

A triangle through which Keith can see stars. Stars and an inky black sky and whirling, floating wisps of gaseous clouds. It’s vaguely familiar and Keith wishes Pidge were here, wishes she could see and identify what he’s looking at.

Shiro gasps. “The Lagoon Nebula.” Keith glances up at him and it’s a mistake, Shiro’s eyes are wide with wonder and he looks like he did before, like he did whenever Keith impressed him. “That’s halfway across the galaxy, how is that possible?”

“It’s a door,” Keith says. He _remembers_. His hands drift over the star map and he presses another point on the map, a star cluster that seems familiar. The image through the door flashes to something entirely different, a sandy red planet with fierce winds that Keith can feel whipping at his hair. “Opening, and closing.”

“Holy cow.” Lance glances between the starmap and the door, eyes wide and shining. “That’s a big door.”

Keith’s not paying attention. He’s looking for a crescent shape, a familiar sight amongst all the rest. He can’t help but grin when he finds it.

The image through the door flickers again. Suddenly a big, white crescent is in view, gleaming in sunlight. Earth is nothing but a blue orb behind it. “The Sol Spaceport,” Keith says. _Home_. Feels like so long since he’s seen it.

He presses another coordinate, and another. The images behind the door flicker and change rapidly, showing a vast array of places across the entire galaxy.

“That’s how he never got caught. He used this portal to travel around, stealing treasure, and then he got away without a trace.” Keith glances at Shiro but he’s still staring at the door. There’s no recognition in his eyes. He never used this door. Was he too young? Had Zarkon stopped his piracy by the time Shiro came around?

Questions he’ll have to ask Oryka someday.

“Where _is_ the treasure?” Shiro turns on Keith, steps so close they’re almost touching. “He must have stashed it somewhere.”

“T—t—treasure!” Lance tugs at his hair, rubs at the back of his neck. Yellow flashes in his eyes. “I remember! I remember! The treasure was—it was buried—”

“Buried in the centre of the mechanism.” Keith thinks of wires and machinery, running through the planet as far as he can see. Down through the core. “The planet is the mechanism.”

Before anyone can say anything he turns back to the starmap. In the centre of it all is Zarkon’s Fortune, exactly as it always appeared in storybooks. Exactly as Thace always described it.

Keith presses his finger against it. The portal flashes again.

It opens onto what looks like a massive, empty room, the ceiling so high it’s obscured by a strange fog. Bizarre black spires extend out from the fog, facing inwards, ends glowing with violet light. Gravity stabilizers?

Keith strides forward, Lance following behind with a hand fisted in the back of his jacket. He presses a hand against the portal and his skin buzzes, the hair on his arm standing on end. With just a bit of pressure his hand moves through, like breaking surface tension. An electric current runs through his entire arm. New and strange and familiar.

He steps inside. His feet land on a wide, circular platform of black metal.

And beyond. Keith stares, frozen in place, barely feeling it when Shiro pushes past him. It’s an ocean of gold. Gleaming and sparkling, piled in massive heaps. Keith looks around, takes it all in; they’re at the very core, the treasure on some massive sphere that he can barely see the curve of.

It’s glorious. More than Keith ever imagined, whenever Thace told him stories. For a second he feels like a little kid again, chasing Thace with Pidge and Matt and Hunk behind him. Playing make-believe.

“There it is.” Shiro’s voice is soft. Wondrous. “Zarkon’s Fortune.” He follows the rest of the crew, leaping down off the platform and into the gold.

Keith watches him go. Red whines in his ear.

“This is weird,” Lance says next to him. Keith glances over and Lance is squinting at the treasure, face twisted up in something that’s not quite recognition. “Does this seem familiar to you? It’s _really_ familiar to me. Have we been here before?”

A ship at the corner of Keith’s eye catches his attention. It’s old and run down, covered in piles of gold, with tattered solar sails. Nothing Keith can’t get running. “Lance. C’mon.” He hits Lance’s shoulder and starts heading over, keeping his voice hushed so Shiro doesn’t look back over. “We’re getting out of here.” And they’re not leaving without treasure. Keith still has debts to repay.

As they get closer, the ship actually doesn’t look so bad. The damage is superficial, scratches and scrapes along the sides, ripped rigging and a few tears in the solar sails. It’ll fly, though.

“This is so _annoying_ ,” Lance whines, kicking at a pile of treasure. Gold coins and jewels tumble down the other side. “It’s like there’s something on the tip of my tongue.” He sticks out his tongue. “An’ I don’ even ha’ a real one.”

“Put that back.” Keith rolls his eyes, jumping up to grab the ship, boots scraping on the outside as he pulls himself up. “C’mon. Up here.”

“Listen, just because _you_ have a proper memory—” Lance climbs up onto the ship and his mouth immediately snaps shut, eyes wide, flickering with yellow.

Keith gets it. Because there, sitting at the helm of the ship, is a corpse.

“Captain Zarkon,” Lance murmurs. “Gross.”

What the hell. It’s actually Zarkon. Or his corpse, mostly skeletal, only a few scraps of skin and sinew lingering. The front of his armour is cracked and stained a deep purple. Blood, from when Oryka killed him.

His hand is curled around something. Keith approaches, peeling back Zarkon’s skeletal fingers. Sitting innocuously in his palm is a computer chip. Small and unobtrusive. The perfect size to fit in the slot on the back of Lance’s neck.

“Hey, Lance,” he calls, plucking up the computer chip. “I think I found something.”

“Holy shit!” Lance bounds up beside him. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s my primary memory unit! Zarkon’s had it the whole time? What’s he doing with it?” Lance makes a face. “Or, I guess, what _was_ he doing with it. He’s not doing much anymore.”

“Turn around.”

“Don’t screw this up, okay?”

Keith growls. Grabs Lance by the hair and shoves the microchip in with more force than probably necessary.

“W-w-woah!” His eyes flash yellow, flickering on and off and his entire body trembles. “W-w-what did—did—” His hand lifts and it’s shaking, his head is twitching like a malfunctioning machine. Then his eyes flash bright blue and then return to normal. “Holy shit.”

Keith wants his dagger. Not to attack Lance but because he feels confused and off-balance and having it helps. “You feeling okay?”

Lance nods shakily. “I’m—I’m _remembering_. Keith, man, I’m remembering!”  His face lights up with a grin and he lets out a loud cheer, throwing his head back. “I was sharpshooter! I was Zarkon’s bodyguard!” With another cry he throws his hands up. “And he told me everything! Because I couldn’t disobey him because Haggar made Ulaz give me obedience protocols but nobody knows those anymore!” Lance picks up a handful of treasure, chucks it in Zarkon’s face. “Take that, you big scaly dick!”

Ulaz? Ulaz made Lance? Ulaz was the Mechanic? Too bad; Pidge and Hunk would’ve loved to meet him.

“Why did Zarkon take your memory?” That’s the thing Keith doesn’t get. If Lance was stranded here, what would it matter what he knows? It’s not like he could lead anyone to the treasure.

“Oh, so I couldn’t tell anyone about the booby traps.”

Both of them stare at each other. Before Keith can say anything the gravity beneath him shifts. Something rumbles far above, metal grinding against metal. Then there’s a boom, and a series of explosions follow one of the spires.

It bursts, cracking in two, and a beam of light shoots out the end. It cuts into the core. Treasure explodes in a shower of gold where it hits, spilling into the crack as the core starts to split.

Shit. “Lance.” Keith dives for the engine. It’s a small ship so the engine is above-deck, thank fuck. “Get out of here. Get back to the rest of them, help them get away from Sendak.” He looks over his shoulder and Lance is just. staring at him. “If I’m not out in ten minutes, leave without me.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “What? I’m not leaving you here!” He crosses his arms. “I’m not letting you get yourself killed just to play hero!”

“Lance, _go_!” Keith reaches into his collar, curls his hand around Red and tosses her in Lance’s direction. “Take Red, get her out of here.”

Lance cups his hands around Red. “We’re coming back for you,” Lance says, chin wobbling, before he turns and hops over the side of the ship and Keith is left alone.


	20. you're the universe i'm helpless in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [Venus - Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iA-BFEAMTgE&ab_channel=SleepingAtLast).

Keith only watches Lance go for a second before turning and crouching down. The engine. He’s gotta get the engine working again. He’s gotta get out of here and make sure everyone else made it, and then they have to get off this planet because this isn’t how it’s all gonna end.

The engine is an old model, still solar-powered but with backups of something older. Keith can get it running, and that’s what’s important. He’s always liked old engines better.

He tugs at wires and pulls machinery into place, digging his fingers into the heart of the engine to get her running. It’s like he’s working on his bike again, fixing her up, figuring her out and putting her back together again.

A spark of energy runs through his fingers as the engine suddenly hums to life.

“ _Yes_!” Keith leaps over the console with a grin, hands already on the wheel. “ _Got it_!” The ship starts to lift and he spins the wheel, turning her towards the portal.

“You sure are something.” Keith spins and there’s Shiro, climbing easily onto the ship, a wide grin on his face. Keith’s dagger hangs at his belt. “You really weren’t kidding, were you. You know engines.” He steps closer, walking casually like they’re friends. Like Keith can trust him.

Keith grabs the nearest weapon, a rusted, unsharpened blade. It’s shit but he points it into Shiro’s chest anyway. His heart is hammering but he grits his teeth, tightens his jaw. Can’t let Shiro see his fear. Can’t let Shiro see weakness.

“Get off my ship,” he snarls, eyes tracking Shiro’s every movement. His shoulders heave. Deep breaths. Don’t panic.

Shiro stops. He looks down, narrowing his eyes at the point of Keith’s blade.

When he looks up, his expression is murderous. Different than it has been. This anger is cold, terrifying. “I never said it back.” Shiro steps forward and Keith steps back, stumbling a little. “I do love you.” Another step. Keith’s throat closes on a breath. “But this treasure is all I have. It’s all I am. And I can’t let you stand in my way.”

He steps forward again and Keith’s back hits the wheel. He should kill Shiro. He could. It’d be _easy_. Just shove forward with the sword, stab into Shiro’s heart.

But Shiro’s going to kill him first. Keith can’t breathe, can’t even swallow. His heart is stuttering, stammering, his fingers shaking and shoulders trembling. Shiro’s hand lights up, his eyes hard.

A sudden blast of light rocks the boat and Keith goes flying, launching over the edge of the ship. His back hits metal hard and he rolls and stumbles, sliding down an incline towards a cliff, a drop down into bubbling lava below.

He jumps forward at the last minute, hits an opposite wall. Metal scrapes on his hands as he scrabbles for a hold—he finds one, fingers latching onto a narrow ledge, boots slipping on the slick black metal of the wall.

Shit, the ledge is pressing in. Disappearing. Keith grunts, pulls himself up—but there are no other ledges to grab onto, no other handholds. He glances down and it’s just a deadly drop into molten lava, hot on his skin even from so far.

“No, no, _c’mon_.” His voice is pitchy. He can’t grab anything, he can’t get his legs up far enough. The ledge is disappearing and Keith’s gonna fall, he’s gonna die—

“Keith!” Keith glances over his shoulder and—it’s Shiro, leaning over to grab him, flesh hand extended. The cyborg hand is wrapped tight around the railing of the ship, holding it close, keeping it from drifting into the viciously bright laser. Keeping the treasure from being destroyed. “Grab my hand.”

Keith tries. He pushes as far from the wall as he can, arm straining. He can’t reach. “I can’t,” he spits out. “I can’t reach, Shiro—!”

The ledge disappears and Keith screams. His nails scrape along the metal and catch on another handhold, shoulders wrenching, feet dangling over the drop. This one’s disappearing too, faster than the other.

Panic bubbles up in Keith’s chest and he can’t breathe, choking on hot air. He’s going to die, Shiro’s never going to give up the treasure and Keith’s going to die, he’ll never be able to make it back home and _be_ someone, he’ll never be anything more than a burden, a mistake.

He falls. A scream rips out of his throat and Keith flails—and then something warm closes around his wrist.

“I’ve got you!” Keith looks up and it’s Shiro, hanging onto the edge of the platform with his metal hand, eyes wide and terrified. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The ship drifts into the laser. Explodes in a shower of wood and gold. It falls into the lava below as Shiro pulls Keith up onto the platform.

Keith falls forward on his hands and knees. Gasping, choking for breath, chest heaving. He feels sick, his mind buzzing with fear, so fierce and bitter he’s gagging on it.

Shiro. Shiro. It won’t stop rocketing around his head, the thought chaotic and frayed. Shiro—he gave up a boatload of treasure. He gave up _everything_ to save Keith’s life. What—what does that even mean?

A warm hand rubs circles on his back. “It’s okay, Keith.” Shiro, his voice warm and quiet. It’s all Keith can hear despite the cacophony of destruction around them. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Come on, up you get.” He loops an arm under Keith’s shoulders, lifting him easily. “There you go. We need to move, come on.”

Shiro’s voice is so soothing. Keith’s panic burrows into something smaller, fading. He looks at Shiro, nods, making a shaky step forward. The portal is still reachable. It’s still in sight.

Together, they make their way there. Slowly, at first, until Keith can move on his own. Then they’re sprinting over black metal, kicking up what few scraps of treasure remain, hands intertwined so tight Keith can’t feel his fingers.

They sprint through the portal still holding hands, cool wind washing over their skin. Keith gulps down air, tipping his head back.

When he can finally breathe again he looks at Shiro. Really looks at him, at the earnest expression on his face, the absolute terror in his eyes. “Why’d you do that?”

“I can’t live without you.” Shiro says it simply, easily. Then his eyes widen. Like he’s surprised. “All the treasure in the galaxy, and I couldn’t do it without you.”

Keith squeezes his hand. “Thank you.”

“No.” Shiro shakes his head. He still looks blown away, unsteady on his feet. “No, Keith. Thank _you_.” His lips quirk in a soft, dumbstruck smile. “Y’know, I don’t think I really need the treasure. I’ve already got the brightest star in the galaxy.”

Keith’s heart swells. He smiles back, and for a moment it doesn’t even matter that the world is tearing itself apart around them. Finally, his chest feels whole.

“Yo, Keith!” Keith and Shiro both look up and—holy shit, it’s the COL Voltron. Lance is leaning over the side, Hunk and Pidge on either side of him. “You better hurry! We’ve got two minutes and thirty-four seconds before this planet fucking blows!”

“Well, shit.” Shiro raises an eyebrow at Keith, all dry charm. “We should probably hurry, then.” He grins, hand still tight around Keith’s and the two of them run for the ship. Coran’s at the helm and he pulls up to the edge of the cliff, low enough that Keith and Shiro just need to hop over the railing.

Suddenly Pidge and Hunk are _there_. There’s a pistol in Pidge’s hand she seems to be handling well and Hunk’s eyes are hard and dangerous.

Pidge aims the gun at Shiro. “Keith? What’s he doing here?!”

“Pidge, wait,” and now Keith’s feeling frantic, panic surging through him at the sight of a gun barrel pointed at Shiro. “Don’t shoot him—”

“What’s going on, Keith?” Hunk’s eyes haven’t left Shiro’s face. He looks bigger than normal, standing tall, shoulders wide as he stares Shiro down. “Didn’t he try to kill you?”

“Yes,” Keith says, because lying to them won’t help anything. “But you have to trust me. He’s not—”

Shiro makes a wounded noise and Keith spins to see Oryka with her blade at his throat, a hand fisted in his hair to keep him still. “Keith.” She cocks her head at him. “We must deal with this.”

Panic courses through Keith’s body. He lifts his hands, trying to placate. “Oryka—Mom.” She blinks at him, blade still pressed across Shiro’s throat. “Let him go.”

“He is Champion.” Oryka’s eyes narrow. “He cannot be trusted.”

“He’s not the Champion anymore.”

It must be obvious in Keith’s voice. On his face. In the desperate, terrified way his hands are shaking, in the intent focus of his eyes on the tiny bead of blood on Shiro’s neck. Oryka’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open in a silent gasp. “You are—”

She shakes her head. Releases her hold on Shiro.

“Coran!” That’s Allura’s voice. She’s sitting up at the helm, hand pressed over her wound. “Take us out of here!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The ship turns, heading up and out. It won’t take much to clear the atmosphere with the ship running like this. Keith turns to Pidge and Hunk, preparing to explain why Shiro hasn’t immediately been thrown in the brig.

He doesn’t get to.

The entire surface of the planet erupts, exploding in a mess of stone and metal and fire. Chunks of it go flying into the air in every direction. A hunk of metal soars over them, crashing against the main mast, knocking it down on one of the laser cannons with a crunch of metal and wood.

The ship’s engine creaks. They slow down.

Lance looks up from the console. “Captain Allura! We’ve lost part of the engine, we’re only operating at 30% capacity!”

Pidge’s eyes go wide. “Thirty percent?!” She glances rapidly between the surface and the sky. “We’ll never clear the planet before the explosion!”

They’ll never clear it. That doesn’t mean they can’t get out of here. Keith scrambles to the side of the ship, avoiding the rubble of the destroyed cannon. Behind them the massive triangular door still gleams, explosions of the treasure room still visible beyond it.

“Turn the ship around!”

Allura stands, gaping at him. “ _What_?”

“Just trust me!” They can make it, Keith knows they can. He just needs some way of getting to the starmap in time to change the destination. He glances around, eyes catching on the twisted metal blaster of the cannon.

It’s enough like an engine that it’ll run. It’ll propel him, at least. And there’s even a trigger he can kick with his feet, something to get it started. Keith drops to a knee, wrenching a charred board of metal out of the wreckage. He’s never ridden a solar surfer but it can’t be that different from the tricks he used to pull standing on his bike.

Shit, he needs some way to attach the makeshift engine to the board. Rope won’t work, it’ll burn out before he gets anywhere.

“Keith.” Shiro’s there, crouched next to him. “What do you need?”

“Attach these.”

At that Shiro’s hand lights up, burning so bright and fierce Keith can feel it. He runs his hand along the seam between the engine and the board, sparks flying out between them. The metal melts together.

Him and Shiro heft the makeshift surfer up onto the railing of the ship. Keith’s about to hop on when a hand lands on his shoulder.

Oryka. He turns to face her and her expression is guarded, careful. He can still see fear in her eyes. “Do not fail,” she says. Her fingers brush along his cheek and Keith’s heart hurts. “You cannot.” Then she steps back, nods at him with her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

Keith jumps up onto the railing of the ship. Lance screams out a warning that they’ve only got a minute and thirty seconds left, his voice ringing in Keith’s head.

“Keith.” Shiro’s hand is warm around his wrist. His expression—it’s _wrecked_ , his eyes big and terrified, mouth twisted up in an expression Keith can’t even name. “Please come back.” The corner of his mouth twitches into a wry grin. “I sacrificed my singular purpose for you, so you’d better not die on me.” Nothing about his tone is remotely joking.

So Keith closes his hand over the back of Shiro’s neck. Pulls him close, until their noses are touching. “Keep the ship heading for the portal,” he says, then shoves their lips together.

The kiss is all tongue and teeth. Shiro’s fingers dig into his arms like he’s trying to dig under Keith’s skin. Keith gives as good as he’s getting, leaning so far forward he’s almost off the railing.

Then he shoves away, climbs onto the surfer, and kickstarts the engine.

The surface of the planet is already starting to fall apart. All hints of green are gone, all hints of life burned up or thrown into space. Chunks of silvery-black metal launch into the air and the gravity’s already starting to go, Keith can feel the tug weakening like he’s in a freefall.

He swerves around a drifting hunk of metal. The tail end of his board scrapes along the side and for a second the engine goes. Keith’s stomach swoops into his throat until he kicks down on the trigger and the engine explodes to life again.

Swerving and dodging, throwing himself left and right, narrowly avoiding explosions and broken chunks of the planet as it destroys itself. Keith doesn’t look back to see if the ship is following him. He keeps his eyes on the massive triangle door. On the starmap, barely more than a pinprick of light in the distance. Everything is exploding around him but Keith ignores it, lets it sit at the back of his mind. It’s like he’s back in the Galra factory on Earth, pulling life-threatening stunts, surfing on the back of his bike with a scream at the back of his throat.

Lance’s voice somehow carries through the chaos. Twenty-five seconds. Keith leans forward, baring his teeth as hot wind whips at his hair. He can make it, he can still make it—

The engine sputters out. Keith kicks down on the trigger but it doesn’t burst, doesn’t even fizzle. Shit, shit, not _now_. He spins to look at it but it’s dead, the metal smoked and overheating. And he’s falling, heart stuttering as his makeshift surfer tumbles wildly into an empty chasm.

“No!” Keith kicks again but nothing, no spark. “C’mon, _c’mon_ !” It’s not ending like this, he’s _not ending like this_.

He’s falling, falling. Heat rises around him from the lava far below, the black metal walls of the chasm looming over him. He just needs a spark.

A spark. Shit, that’s it. Keith grits his teeth, leans forward straight for the far wall. He spins the board at the last second, pressing the engine against the wall. Sparks fly as the metal scrapes, burning hot and bright—and the engine flares to life.

Keith rides her straight up. The ship passes overhead, a massive whale of white and gold against the smoky red sky. He crests over the edge of the chasm and they’re close, they’re so close, he just needs to outrun the ship and get to the starmap—

Lance is counting down, his voice shrill and panicked, but Keith works best under pressure. He leans forward until he’s out of the ship’s shadow, bursting forward impossibly fast.

“C’mon!” The scream burns in his throat like ash. His hand stretches out and muscles are straining and he can see the crescent moon in the starmap, the tiny blip signifying _home_ . “ _C’mon_!”

He presses the light.

The image beyond the door flickers. For a second there’s nothing and Keith almost rears back, scrambling to stop the momentum of his sailer—and then he sees the familiar gleaming white of the Sol Spaceport just moments before the buzz of the door passes over his skin.

He looks back just as the COL Voltron follows him through. Beyond the door is nothing but explosions, so hot he can feel it through the door, and then the violet glow flickers away like a bad connection.

Nothing but the infinite expanse of stars remains.

A scream tears itself out of Keith’s throat, joy so potent it bursts from his lungs. He did it. They all did it, they made it through.

He whirls around the side of the ship, following the curve until he’s above the deck. It’s a victory lap and he can see Pidge and Hunk and Lance all wrapped up in a hug, a mess of tears and cheering. Allura stands proudly next to Coran at the wheel, their hands twined tightly together.

Keith ignores all of them. He sees Shiro, Red exploding into vivid fireworks next to his head, and a grin stretches across his face. Before Shiro can say anything Keith launches himself off the surfer and into his arms.

“Woah!” Shiro sounds surprised but it doesn’t take him more than a second to catch his balance. Warm arms wrap around Keith’s waist and lift him off the ground. Keith curls his arms around Shiro’s broad shoulders, fingers clenching in the back of his coat. He buries his face into Shiro’s neck and he smells like home and freedom all at once.

“I love you,” Keith says, just because he fucking _can_. Adrenaline courses through him like a drug, bracing and sweet, and he pulls back and grins at the bright shock on Shiro’s face.

For a brief second, Shiro just stares at him. Eyes wide with wonder, like he’s staring up at the stars. Then a slow grin spreads across his face. “Told you you were a supernova,” he says. His voice is low, intimate. Something just for them. “I love you too.”

“Keith!” That’s Oryka’s voice—his mom’s voice. Keith turns in Shiro’s arms and she’s there, hand twitching as they hover near him. Her eyes flicker briefly between him and Shiro, then settle on him. “Keith.”

Keith disentangles himself from Shiro. Grabs his mom’s hands, looking up into her face. She’s so much taller than him but she almost looks small, almost fragile, her eyes wide and unblinking, cat-like ears flicking.

“You are impossible.” She says it like a compliment. Her hands slip from Keith’s and curl around his cheeks, head dipping until her forehead presses against his own. “Your heart is starlight.” When she pulls back, there’s a shaky smile on her narrow face. “Much as your father’s.”

Keith smiles. Puts his hands over Oryka’s. “Actually, I think I got that from you.”

She makes a noise like he’s punched her. A short, hurt gasp. “My son.” Her eyes shine with what Keith thinks might be tears. “My Keith.”

“Ahem.” Allura’s voice, soft and purposeful. Dull panic wells up in Keith’s chest. He turns to watch as she descends the stairs from the helm, tall and proud like she was never injured at all. Brilliant blue eyes look from Shiro to Oryka, her mouth set in a grim line. “I haven’t forgotten who you are. Zarkon’s Champion and one of Zarkon’s crew.”

No. No, she can’t. Not after everything. “Allura,” Keith starts, stepping away from Oryka, standing in front of her and Shiro. “Don’t.”

There’s a softness to her eyes when she looks at Keith. “They are war criminals, Keith.” She shakes her head. “That you love them does not change that.”

“Oryka killed Zarkon.” Allura’s eyes widen. Keith takes advantage of her shock. “She left his crew, and then she went back and killed him. Because it was her duty.” His eyes flicker behind him, to Shiro’s resigned expression. No, Keith’s not giving up that easy. “And Shiro was just a kid when they took him.”

“Keith’s right.” Pidge steps into place beside Keith. Her tiny hand slips into his own, squeezes gently. “If he trusts them, I trust them.”

“Me too.” Hunk, on Pidge’s other side. “Even if they did terrible things.”

“Oh, they did.” Dammit, Keith is going to fucking _disassemble_ Lance. He slides into place on Keith’s other side, arm draped over his shoulder. “But one of them was a child soldier conditioned for loyalty since he was like five, and he _broke_ that loyalty, and the other one stabbed ol’ Zarkon. I’d say they deserve a bit of leniency.”

Allura stares at them. At the tableau all of them make, a veritable wall of protection for Shiro and Oryka. “There must be a trial,” she says, her voice firm, but Keith sees a wavering in her eyes.

“Allura.” He holds her gaze. If he can just make her understand. Make her see. “You know how a trial would end.” All the evidence in the universe of Shiro’s coercion, of Oryka’s redemption, and they’d be convicted the same as any bloodthirsty Galra pirates. “Please.”

Keith won’t let them be taken away from him. They’ll all go on the run together if they have to, disappear into the stars. Start over somewhere new, where Galra pirates and Zarkon’s Champion aren’t even whispers of legends.

For a long moment, Allura stares at him. Then she sighs, shoulders slumping, head dipping in a nod. She looks . . . young. As out of her element as Keith feels.

She spins on her heel, white waves of hair streaming out around her. “Coran!”

Coran salutes. He smiles and Keith thinks he might be proud. “Yes ma’am!”

“Bring us in to the Sol Spaceport!”

As she leaves, Pidge squeezes Keith’s hand one more time. Hunk claps a hand on his shoulder, and Lance tugs him into something that’s half-hug half-headlock. They drift off into their own little group. Keith knows there’ll be a lot of talking later, a lot of explanations. But that can come later, when they’re back home. Back on solid ground.

He turns to see both Oryka and Shiro staring at him. Keith’s heart hurts. It’s a good pain.

“So.” Keith looks between the two of them. “Got any plans?”

Oryka nods once. “A home.” She frowns, lips pursing, brows drawing together. “I have not . . . had one.”

Neither has Keith. He smiles at her. “I’d like that.”

A smile spreads across her face. It’s a little awkward, like she doesn’t quite know how, but it’s genuine. “Thank you.” Her eyes flicker from Keith’s face to Shiro’s and suddenly Keith is terrified because they have so much history, there’s so much between them. “Champion—Shiro.”

Shiro nods. His face is calm. Still resigned. Expectant. “Oryka.”

For a long moment, Oryka stares at him. Eyes flicking over his face, like she’s searching for something. Apparently she finds it. “We will talk,” she decides with a sharp nod. “You will become. Neither of us belong to him any longer.”

With that, she turns and walks away. Her pale braid swings at her back, ears twitching like she’s still listening for threats, her stride purposeful and prepared. Keith watches her until she reaches the bow of the ship. Off to watch the stars. Somehow, he knows that’s what she’s doing.

“She always had more faith in me than I deserved.” Keith turns back and Shiro’s rubbing a hand over his face. He looks tired. Exhausted, really, deep bruises beneath his eyes, sleep clinging to his grim expression when he looks at Keith. “Always thought I was stronger than I was. Apparently it runs in the family.”

He’s getting at something. Keith doesn’t know what and it’s making him antsy, hands twitching and fidgeting at his sides. Anxious to grab something.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Keith.” Shiro turns to face him fully, stepping so close Keith has to tilt his head back to look up at him. “I deserve a trial, Keith. I deserve punishment for what I did. All the people I killed, all the lives I destroyed . . .” Shiro’s fingers brush against Keith’s throat. Against the bruises there, the burns on Keith’s skin. “Everything I did to you . . .” A flurry of emotions flickers across Shiro’s face before he swallows them down.

His face is carefully expressionless. His walls are up. Well, Keith’s never let barricades stand in his way.

“Hey.” He closes the distance between them until their chests are pressed together, fingers curling in the collar of Shiro’s jacket. Hands immediately land at his waist and Keith doesn’t smile but he feels something warm and gentle spread through him at Shiro’s touch. “That wasn’t you. That was the Champion.”

Shiro’s smile is sad. “Aren’t we the same?”

“No, you _aren’t_.” The Champion was never soft. The Champion was a terrifying force of nature, anger and determination and greed, clinging to the last thread of all he’d ever known. The Champion would never hold Keith like this, like he’s something precious, fingers rubbing circles against Keith’s hipbones almost like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. “You’re Takashi. Takashi Shirogane. You’re a good man.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Then you’ll prove it.” Keith presses closer. “You’ll join the Garrison with me, and you’ll show me you’re a good man.”

Hands tighten on Keith’s waist. “Garrison, huh?”

Keith’s lips quirk in something that’s almost a smile. “We both have something to prove.

The subject of Shiro’s past is dropped, then, and Keith leans up for a kiss. He knows it’s not over, knows that a few soft words and gentle kisses aren’t changing anything. It’s a conversation they’ll be having often. Keith can tell that much. But the fact that he gets to _have_ that conversation . . . it means more than anything.


	21. epilogue: living the dream, yours and mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from [The Calling - TheFatRat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KR-eV7fHNbM&ab_channel=TheFatRat).

_Six Months Later_

“You know I didn’t invite you here to study, Keith.”

Keith’s eyes flicker away from his textbook, staring at Shiro standing over the bed with his hands on his hips. There’s a fond smile on his face, a wry quirk to his raised eyebrow. He’s taken off his uniform jacket, left in just cadet pants and a tight white t-shirt that clings to his broad frame almost obscenely.

“Studying’s important.” There’s a teasing grin on his face when he says it but he’s not really joking. Keith’s taking this serious now. This isn’t gonna be another thing he fails at because of discipline issues and reckless disregard for authority. This is more important than that. “Got a test in a week.”

“A test that you’re going to ace,” Shiro says, sitting on the bed next to Keith. He immediately slides his hand up Keith’s back, into his hair. “You already know everything there is to know about engine composition.”

Keith presses his head against Shiro’s gently scratching fingers. “I could always learn more.”

“Overachiever.”

“You’re no better.”

Shiro tugs on his hair, just on the right side of painful. “Smart-ass.”

Instead of answering Keith looks back down at his textbook, eyes tracing over various diagrams. Shiro’s right, he could disassemble and reassemble an engine in his sleep—with improvements, no less. But he wants to take this seriously. He’s got a lot more people to impress now.

Not to mention Shiro’s dorm room is maybe the only place Keith can concentrate enough for studying. His own roommate is constantly playing music or bringing over his friends, and the library is too full of people. Shiro’s roommate is never around. He’s an odd, quiet guy named Sven and he’s always either off-base or running sims.

“Stop trying to distract me,” he says after a beat. Shiro’s hand stills in his hair, fingers digging slightly into his scalp.

Then he starts up again, tugs gently on Keith’s hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There’s a smile in his voice, a little bit of wickedness. A leftover of the time where everything he said was a challenge, something Keith had to rise against. Sometimes it’s still like that. Now it’s just more fun. “I’m just being appreciative. Have I ever told you how glad I am that the Garrison hasn’t made you cut your hair?”

Keith snorts. Flips to another diagram in his textbook, cataloguing the various engine parts. “That so?”

“Yeah.” Shiro’s fingers curl around strands of Keith’s hair and tug, _hard_. A rumble starts up in his chest. Purring. Keith can actually purr now, he’s discovered. Apparently it’s a Galra thing.

He hasn’t started turning purple yet, or anything. According to his mom that’s a distinct possibility.

“So, I got a call from Pidge earlier,” Shiro’s saying, still gently massaging Keith’s scalp.

“Mm.”

“She was hoping we’d be able to come over today. I think Oryka’s already agreed to go, and obviously Lance and Hunk are going to be there.” Shiro hums, scratches the back of Keith’s neck. The scratchy, rumbling purr in Keith’s chest gets louder. “It’s been a while since we’ve all gotten together. We should go visit.”

Keith knows what he’s doing. Shiro’s a smooth talker, knows how to present his arguments in a way that seems like he’s presenting facts.

So he rolls his eyes. “You just want me to get out.”

“You’re working yourself up too much, baby.” Shiro’s hand trails down to Keith’s back, rubbing tiny circles into the tension. “You’re going to do just fine on that test. You’ve aced everything so far.”

That’s all true. But Keith still feels like he’s gotta keep going, gotta keep cramming his brain with information until there’s no chance of him forgetting it. He wants to make something of this. He _needs_ to make something of this. Now he’s got an actual life, an actual chance at a future, potential to do something amazing. He can’t waste it.

“Keith, you have to relax.” A silver hand reaches around him, tugs on the textbook until it’s out of his reach. Shiro snaps it shut, tosses it to the other end of his perfectly made bed.

Keith shifts, rolls onto his side so he can narrow his eyes at Shiro. “Shiro—”

Shiro dips low, pushes Keith until he’s on his back. Mismatched eyes gleam  with something sharp and bright, yellow starlight and dark silver. “C’mon, baby.” A grin curves across Shiro’s face as he settles himself between Keith’s legs. “Let me take your mind off things.”

It’s a terrible line. Keith lets Shiro kiss him anyway.

* * *

Despite what protocol states, they don’t take one of the Garrison-sanctioned solar vehicles out to make the hour-long trip to the Holt house. They take Keith’s bike, busted and shoddy as it is. 

Keith could’ve replaced it. Garrison allowance is pretty damn good and even after getting a place with Oryka and paying back Matron Ingrid, there was plenty of money leftover from the treasure they brought back in Shiro’s pockets. But it wouldn’t be right to get rid of his bike for something new and shiny. Like betraying her, or something.

It’s not really a bike meant for two people but they make it work, Shiro a long line up against his back, arms wound around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. Red’s curled up in an inner pocket of Keith’s jacket. She usually falls asleep on long rides like this, chirping and bubbling up against his heart.

The sun is just starting to set as they pull up to the Holt place, streaking the clouds with orange and pink. Keith pulls up the ridiculously long driveway and cuts the engine, pats the flank of his bike despite his leather gloves sticking to the overheating metal. After the long ride his legs are sore and cramping, his shoulders tight.

He rolls them out and immediately Shiro’s hands are there, thumbs digging into the tension in his shoulder blades. “Let me take care of that,” Shiro says, his voice a low murmur in Keith’s ear. “You need to see a chiropractor.”

Keith rolls his eyes, presses his shoulders back against Shiro’s hands. “I’m fine.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Both of them look to the door. Lance is there, standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm golden glow from inside. He smirks, raising an eyebrow at them. “You guys gonna come inside or what?”

“Shut up, Lance.”

As expected, at the sound of Lance’s name Red stirs in Keith’s jacket. She floats out, still dripping like jelly, and at the sight of him she trills and flies to him.

“Red!” While Lance is cuddling her against his cheek, Keith walks past him and into the house. It’s warm, the atmosphere close and comfortable despite the ostentatious size of the entranceway. “Everyone’s in the observatory,” Lance offers, shutting the door behind them, still cooing at Red as she prances around his head.

Shiro claps him on the shoulder with a grin. “Thanks, buddy. How’ve you been?”

“I’m good! Thanks for asking, _Shiro_ .” Lance narrows his eyes at Keith. “I’ve been hanging out, helping out Hunk and Pidge with all their research stuff.” He purses his lips, scratches beneath Red’s chin with a thoughtful look. “Apparently there’s a _lot_ more stuff stored up in my head than they expected.”

Keith snorts. “That’s surprising.”

“I know, right? Wait—hey!”

They bicker good-naturedly all the way up to the observatory. Even after so long Lance has never stopped getting on Keith’s nerves, but they’ve fallen into an easy rapport of mutual annoyance and respect.

When Keith opens the door to the observatory the first thing he notices is a wild mane of white hair.

“Allura?” She turns at the sound of his voice, blue eyes sparkling in the low lighting of the observatory. She looks a little older than she did when they last saw each other a few months back, her features more mature. A smile curves across her face, hands clasping at her front.

“Keith.” Blue eyes flicker to Keith’s right. The uneasiness on her face lasts only a second. “Shiro. It’s good to see you both.”

Keith meets her in a quick hug. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Coran greeting Shiro enthusiastically, all smiles and excited handshakes.

When Keith pulls back Allura smiles at him, soft and diplomatic. Doesn’t look nearly as fake as it did when they first met, all those months back. “How is the Garrison treating you?”

“Good.” Really good. “How’s the Altean Navy?”

A real, brilliant smile stretches across her face. “We’ve been making incredible discoveries.” Her eyes flicker to the side; Keith follows her gaze to see Oryka in quiet conversation with Lance. “The intel your mother provided us with has been invaluable.” That was one of Allura’s conditions, initially. Oryka and Shiro would provide her with whatever information possible, tell her all the secrets of the Galra Empire and Emperor Zarkon and their years as pirates.

“That’s great, Allura.” It’s good, seeing her properly happy. They’re too similar in a lot of ways, always wound up tight and pushing further and further. “So, you and Coran have leave?”

“Only for the night.” Allura glances up, smiles like she can see the stars. “We’re off on another expedition tomorrow.”

“That reminds me.” Suddenly Pidge is there, sliding into the conversation sipping at a champagne flute filled with what Keith’s pretty sure is orange juice. “Hunk and Lance and I are all gonna be gone for a while.”

Keith blinks at her. “What?”

Pidge shrugs. “Oh, y’know. We discovered a starmap to one of Zarkon’s ancient settlements.” She grins, teeth white and eyes shining behind her glasses. “Our contacts in the Altean Navy got us an expedition.”

Keith looks between her and Allura. “You’re going on an expedition together?”

From behind him, Hunk groans. “Pidge,” he admonishes, joining them with a tray of little hors d’oeuvres. “That’s not how we were supposed to tell him.” He turns to Keith, dark eyes warm and apologetic. “Sorry, Keith. Yeah, this is kind of a going away party.”

“So Pidge and Lance managed to convince you to get on another ship, huh?”

Hunk grimaces. “Yeah, I don’t know how I let them do that.”

Pidge snickers, makes a little kissy face as she bats her eyelashes. “It’s because you’ll follow Lance anywhere,” she croons, slim hands clasping together over her heart.

“C’mon, that’s . . .” Hunk squirms, a barely visible blush colouring his cheeks. “That’s not fair,” he finishes eventually, before stuffing one of the hors d’oeuvres in his mouth.

Keith shrugs. “You should go for it.”

With a snort, Pidge downs the rest of her orange juice. “You aren’t really qualified to give romantic advice, Keith.”

“I’m the only one of us in a relationship.”

She just rolls her eyes, flaps a hand to dismiss him. “Yeah, you fell in love with a Galra pirate who tried to kill you multiple times, that just _screams_ ‘stable love life’.” Her grin has just a little too much teeth.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m in a relationship.” Keith turns to face Hunk fully, locks eyes with him even though Hunk keeps trying to look away. “Hunk, you should say something.”

“Yeah, but then what if something goes wrong?” Hunk grimaces, shaking his head. “Like what if he doesn’t feel the same way and it makes things weird? Or what if I totally mess up my words and sound like a total idiot? Or what if he actually secretly hates me and I say something and he shoots me—”

Allura giggles, the sound light and airy. “Oh, Hunk,” she says, and she puts a slender hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I can promise you, it will work out.”

Hunk looks like he’s about to respond, eyes wide with fear—until Lance drapes an arm over his shoulders and leans into the conversation. “What’ll work out? What are we talking about?” His eyes flash bright blue, a hand swiping out to Hunk’s tray of food. “Sweet, mini pizzas! Hunk, man, you’re the best.”

Pidge cackles, and Allura giggles demurely into her fingers, and Keith takes that time to bow out. No need to make that more embarrassing and awkward than it already is.

He finds his mom on the outskirts of the room. Oryka’s cross-legged on one of the many desks, carefully positioned as to not disturb anything. After all this time she still gravitates to the edges, watching from the fringes. It’s nice. Keith doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable when he’s sitting with her, doesn’t have to force himself to be surrounded by people.

He leans against the desk beside her. “Hey, Mom.”

“Keith.” She leans over, butts her head against his like a cat. Her ears flick and twitch, vivid yellow eyes looking him over again and again. “You are happy.” It’s a statement, not a question, and her mouth curves into a smile that still looks a little out of place.

“Yeah.” He smiles back. “I am.”

Oryka nods. “We share it,” she says, decisive and pleased. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Keith returns, bumping his shoulder against hers. “So, about the Garrison . . .”

“One day,” Oryka says. Her voice is hard, conclusive, but not angry. “When you are gone. Visiting the stars. I will join you then.”

It’s a conversation they’ve had before. Oryka could join the Garrison easily. She’s older, she wouldn’t need to go through her four years like Keith. Like Shiro is choosing to. She could just go through a condensed courseload, take the tests and be up in space within the year.

Keith knows she wants it. He hasn’t lived at home in months but he remembers the wide window in her room, big and open to let in the starlight. Oryka’s an explorer more than anything else.

“You could do it sooner.” Keith stares at her but she just looks out across the room, eyes glowing soft, hands folded gently in her lap. “You miss it.”

She shakes her head. “I would miss you.”

“I’d be up soon enough anyway.”

“No.” Her eyes finally meet his again. “I follow you. I walk your path.” A little purr bubbles up in her throat. Keith can’t stop himself from responding in kind. “We will not be separate again, Keith.”

A fuzzy, comfortable warmth pools in Keith’s chest. “Okay,” he says simply, and the topic is dropped.

They watch the party in silence for a while. It’s nice to sit with Oryka. They don’t need to talk, don’t need to fill silences with useless chatter. It’s comfortable in a way Keith only ever thought he’d have when he was alone.

Seeing everyone here like this, all together—Keith’s heart fills with a certain, special kind of warmth, a comforting sense of familiarity. This is his family. They’re a little disfunctional, a little messy, but they’re still a family. Something Keith never really considered himself needing. But now that he has one . . .

Oryka hums. “I met your Matron.”

“What?”

“Your . . . Ingrid.” She says it slowly, testing out the syllables. “She assumed my responsibility.”

Keith shakes his head. “She was never my mother.”

“No,” Oryka agrees with a decisive nod. “A caretaker.” She stares into the distance, thoughtful and quiet, before her gaze lands on Keith again. “I was . . . unexpected. And welcomed.” A purr rumbles almost inaudibly in her chest.

A smile tugs at Keith’s mouth. “Yeah.” Matron Ingrid was always good about aliens, even Galra. She’s the one who introduced him to Thace in the first place, suggested he find something productive to do with his hands. “Why’d you go see her?”

For six months, Oryka has been avoiding it. Keith can’t be entirely sure but he thinks it’s out of a certain kind of shyness, an awkwardness at meeting the woman who essentially raised her son for eleven years.

“I missed you,” Oryka says simply.

“You could’ve come to visit at the Garrison.”

Oryka shakes her head, sharp and decisive as she locks eyes with Keith. “No. I missed you. I missed your growth.” She hums. “The Matron--ah, Ingrid--she showed me.” A soft, dreamlike quality drifts down over her eyes, the glow turning gentle and golden. “We spoke. It was like remembering.”

Keith winces. “I caused her a lot of trouble.”

“We do not love what is easy.” Yellow eyes flicker over to Keith, softness settling over Oryka’s narrow face. “She is proud.” Her hand tucks back a lock of Keith’s hair. “I am proud. As your father would be.”

Keith thinks of his dad, laughing and ruffling Keith’s hair when he helped him out with a faulty solar engine, grinning wide when Keith walked in covered in grease because he’d taken apart the motor on one of his toys. Privately, he thinks Oryka is right.

He doesn’t say it, though. He leans into the touch of her fingers, soft against his temple, and his eyes drift shut.

“Bruschetta, anyone?” Keith cracks an eye open to see Shiro approaching the two of them, a platter balanced on his metal hand. “Hunk made it, it’s incredible.”

Oryka cocks her head to the side. “Bruschetta,” she says, slowly, as though she’s sounding it out.

Keith grabs a serving. “It’s basically bread topped with tomato,” he says, before popping the little piece of toast in his mouth. Man. Hunk’s cooking never ceases to amaze. “You’d like it.”

Oryka hums, narrows her eyes at the platter as though analyzing it for weakness.

“It’s delicious, Oryka,” Shiro promises, eyes lit up with laughter. “And a lot better than Keith makes it sound.”

Keith shrugs. Bread and tomato. That’s basically the extent of it. No point in getting any more complicated with his explanation.

After a moment, Oryka gives a single shake of her head. “No thank you. Later, maybe.”

“Suit yourself.” Shiro drops the tray on the desk next to Keith, spinning the desk chair and settling into it backwards. He grins at them both. “So, are you guys enjoying the party?”

“We’re happy,” Oryka says simply.

Shiro’s grin softens around the edges. He looks simultaneously older and younger when he smiles like that; less cocky, more mature, but also wide-eyed and guileless. “That’s good to hear.” His eyes flicker to Keith. “So, how long did you consider ditching the Garrison and sailing across the stars with Captain Allura again?”

“I didn’t.” Keith kicks up his foot to rest on Shiro’s knee.

Shiro laughs, soft and low. “One track mind,” he says, exasperated and fond, staring at Keith like he hung the moon and stars. It’s still a bit overwhelming, being stared at like that. Shiro’s got so much faith in him that he doesn’t really know what to do with it sometimes. “What happened to the kid with discipline issues who refused to listen to me, huh?”

“You were a jackass.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t think Iverson is a jackass too.”

Keith shrugs.

A purr rumbles out of Oryka’s chest as she looks between them. “You are happy, too,” she says, decisively, and her lips curve in a barely-there smile. “It is a good fit. Like . . . puzzle pieces.”

It’s always a little flooring how supportive Oryka is of them. There are so many reasons for her to be against them. Keith’s never asked her about the whole ‘Champion’ thing—she dismisses it whenever it’s brought up, treats Shiro and the Champion like two different entities—but he once brought up the fact that Shiro is ten years older than him.

He remembers her response clearly. She’d narrowed her eyes, and inclined her head, and stated, “I was hundreds of years older than your father.” And that was that.

Shiro smiles. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Galra only choose one,” Oryka says, and her eyes go soft and dreamlike as she recalls some memory. Then she focuses, eyes landing on Shiro. She stands.  “You are a good choice, Takashi Shirogane.”

Shiro’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, pink colouring his cheeks. He ducks his head at the compliment, murmurs quiet thanks to Oryka, hand squeezing tight around Keith’s knee.

Keith may not be full Galra, but he feels it in his gut. Shiro’s the one. Shiro’s it for life. It sounds so poetic that way, a line from one of Lance’s romance novels, but it’s just . . . right. Keith’s made his choice. Made it a long time ago, really. Maybe he made it the first time they met, squaring up against each other in the COL Voltron’s kitchen.

As Oryka walks away, heading in Coran’s direction, Shiro moves to sit on the desk next to Keith. Their thighs press together, shoulders too, and almost without thinking Keith laces their fingers together over his lap.

“She’s right,” he says after a while, watching Oryka’s ears flick animatedly as she talks to Coran.

Shiro squeezes his hand. “About what?”

Keith leans over. Rests his head on Shiro’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. Clean and fresh, like bodywash and outside. He rubs his thumb in circles over Shiro’s, the metal smooth and warm on his skin. It feels right. Everything about this is right.

“You’re it,” he murmurs. “You’re my one choice.”

“That’s a pretty big choice to make.” Shiro’s voice is light and easy but there’s a heaviness there, a warning. Keith can hear it all. The guilt, the self-hatred, the terror that the Champion will take over again someday. “Are you sure?”

Keith looks at their hands where they’re intertwined. Images flash through his head; him and Shiro graduating, receiving their official titles of ‘Pilot’. The two of them being sent on missions, exploration and adventure, dealing with threats to the galaxy and dispatching the Garrison’s enemies. Boarding the COL Voltron on official Garrison business and sailing across the stars again, spending quiet nights in the crow’s nest surrounded by darkness and silence.

A band of silver around his ring finger, shining bright in starlight.

“Yeah.” Keith’s eyes drift shut and he sees constellations, supernovas, the icy tails of comets lingering on his skin. When he opens his eyes he looks at Shiro, at the swelling of love in his mismatched eyes. “I’m sure.”

Keith’s been chasing stardust since he was just a kid. He never expected to find it in the soft, golden glow of a single Galra eye.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. Thank you so much for reading, everyone. Big thanks to the mod, [overcaustically](http://overcaustically.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, for all his work on this Big Bang. And a huge thank you, again, to the artist I was paired with for the [amazing art](http://calico-cats.tumblr.com/post/164374494804/here-is-my-art-piece-for-the-sheithbigbang-this) you created for this project. 
> 
> I might write more in this universe at some point. I’ve already sorta got a oneshot planned . . . It’d be E-rated, because alien biology allows me to be ABO trash, so . . . that might be something that’ll exist!
> 
> This was such an amazing project to be a part of!
> 
> I can be found at [soft-eldritch](http://soft-eldritch.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [softEldritch](https://twitter.com/softEldritch) on twitter if you wanna talk! <3


End file.
